


we were promised the world (but so was everyone else)

by bravestyles



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Depression, Drug Addiction, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Estranged Parents, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Kid Fic, M/M, Minor Character Death, Poverty, Religious Conflict, Sex Work, set in chicago, vague suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:48:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 94,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26110672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravestyles/pseuds/bravestyles
Summary: Louis and Harry are young and broke. For their daughter, they figure it out together.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 76
Kudos: 197





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> title: your light - the big moon

-

Almost all of the floorboards squeak. There are cracks running through the walls. On the ceilings, there are signs of water damage. The mattress's springs dig into their already sore backs. The majority of the dishes are chipped, only being thrown away out of absolute necessity, like the time Addison cut her thumb on the sharp rim of a bowl. The windows are shit at keeping out the cold, probably due to the cracks in the glass. Half the time, the toilet doesn't flush. The fridge has been making loud noises lately. All of the lights are dimmed, and the one in the dining room makes a faint buzzing sound that gives them all a headache. 

Like now, as Harry sits on one of their chipping wooden chairs at the wobbly table, the buzz makes his head hurt. He aches, literally, for some sort of quick fix, like an ibuprofen or maybe a nap. Normally, he would just turn the lights out -- it'd save money, anyway -- but he's trying to stay awake for Louis and their daughter Addison.

He glances at the clock and its hands show it's just past midnight. Louis will be getting home with Addy in the next half hour, finally getting off work. Harry hasn't seen either of them all day; Harry worked most of the day, and his boss won't allow him to take her with him. Both of Louis' jobs will, though. So by default, Louis takes Addison with him to work everyday. In the morning, she sits in someone’s office while Louis stocks shelves at a Home Depot, and at night, she sits in someone else’s office while he waits tables at a restaurant. Sometimes, if they aren’t busy, she can sit at one of the table’s so she can watch Louis, but that’s not all that fun, either. And while Louis’ jobs require him to be running around and working on his feet all day, Harry works at a small insurance company where he answers phones and organizes files. Another way Louis has it harder than him, even though they’re in this shitty situation together. 

Harry's heart aches along with his head. 

She's not theirs, obviously. Biology, and all that. Not too long after Harry got kicked out of his mother’s house, his sister tracked him down and dropped a baby in his lap. He remembers her being jittery and anxious, not from guilt or regret but because she was high. She was always high. Heroin, ecstasy, acid -- anything, really. She took it all. Probably still does, if she's alive. Harry hasn't seen her since she gave them Addison and adoption forms with her signature on all the right lines four years ago, but he knows she didn't go back home. She was kicked out of the house when Harry was sixteen, and they never stayed in touch after that. 

Not more than ten minutes later, the door is being jostled open, because lately, it won't open smoothly. Rusty hinges, or something. Harry jolts awake, somehow having fallen asleep, and tries his best to pretend like he was doing something productive as Louis walks in. Louis' had a longer day than Harry has. The least he could be doing is creating a list of things they need, or going through their bills and finding out which are late-late (because all of them are late, most likely), or looking through the newspaper to find himself a part-time job, even though Louis doesn't think it's a good idea, not until it becomes 'absolutely necessary'. 

Harry doesn’t know how it could get much worse than this. He’s almost certain they’ll eventually find out.

The first thing Harry notices is how exhausted Louis is. Not in a way that a good night's sleep could fix or simple wear and tear from a long day. He's tired in that bone-deep, nauseating type of way.

"Daddy," Addison greets cheerfully, running away from Louis and towards Harry. He scoops her up and stands, letting her wrap her legs around his waist the best she can. She's a bit tiny for her age, and Harry anxiously wonders if that's because she's not being properly cared for, or Gemma doing drugs while she was pregnant screwed her up somehow. She’s a relatively happy kid, though. Sometimes she gets upset that she has to go to work with Louis all the time, and sometimes she’s so tired that it makes them both feel guilty, but she’s okay. She’s still too young to know that this isn’t what most kids her age go through -- that’s what is, really. The fact is, she’s only met a few other kids her age in her lifetime, and she hasn’t had to face the reality that her life is a lot shittier than everyone else’s. 

"Go to sleep," Harry tells Louis once he's closer. Louis' leaning against the door, looking at him through glazed-over eyes. "I'll feed her and then put her down for the night."

"She already ate," Louis mumbles. He grimaces as he shrugs off his jacket, and Harry sighs. 

"Is it your shoulder?"

"Always is, isn't it?"

Louis tosses his jacket in the direction of the couch. It misses completely, and Louis doesn't seem like he cares much. He walks past the two of them and squeezes Addy's foot. Harry's relieved at first, thinking Louis' going to listen to him for once and go to sleep. Instead, Louis goes over to the couch and sits down. 

"Bedroom's that way, in case you forgot," Harry says, irritated but hiding it with sarcasm. Addison giggles into his shoulder, pulling a smile out of them both. 

Louis pats the spot next to him, beckoning Harry to come sit. When Harry doesn't move, he sighs. "Love, haven't had more than twenty minutes together all week. I wanna talk to you."

"Sleep is more important than catching up with one another." Louis looks offended, and Harry sighs. "I just mean you need sleep. We'll find time for us later."

"No, we won't," Louis argues, "and you've seemed more stressed out lately. I haven't asked 'cause I didn't wanna stress you out even more, but I wanna talk about whatever it is tonight."

No, he doesn't. Louis doesn't want to hear that it's almost certain that Harry's going to lose his job. That'll probably cut about five years off Louis' life due to stress, and Harry doesn't need Louis to worry about him. He's talking to his boss, trying to reason with him about things. It hasn't seemed to be working ( _"Harry, I know you need this job, but so does everyone else. Our budget got cut and as a result, we need to cut staff. It's just business, kid. There's nothing you can do."_ ) but Harry can find a new job somewhere. According to his boss, Tim, he has about three weeks left. 

"See, that face right there is why I wanna talk to you," Louis says. 

"Fine," Harry huffs. "I'll put her to bed and then we can talk about it."

For about fifteen minutes, they lay on the floor together while Louis questions him about everything. Harry rubs Louis' shoulder while he answers, begging it to stop putting his poor boyfriend through so much pain all the time. He kneads and prods and massages all over Louis' right shoulder, getting rougher and rougher and only backing off when Louis warns him that it hurts too much.

Abruptly, Louis turns around so his back is on the carpet and he's facing Harry. He looks even more tired and stressed than he did when he came home, and it makes Harry feel like shit. How is it that Louis' managed to keep both his jobs while Harry can't keep a tight grip on the only one he has?

"I wanted to get you back in school," Louis whispers.

Harry frowns, sitting criss-cross next to Louis. "That's not even a possibility anymore, Lou. Don't worry about that."

"But you're so bloody smart, Harry. If we can get you through school and into a proper job, we'd be so much better off."

The topic just makes Harry fucking depressed. He made it two years into college before Louis and him just couldn't afford it anymore and he had to drop out. It's been about two months since he did that, and he still hasn't got another job, and now he's losing this one, and it's just -- Louis does so much. It feels like Harry can't pull his weight.

He was getting a degree in chemical engineering. He had the smarts for it, and his senior year physics teacher told him it'd get him good money as soon as he graduated from college. But, financially, it just wasn't working for them, and he had to drop out. He was about half way done, and he just had to give it all up. Yet again, Harry failed at providing for Louis and Addison. 

"Addy's almost out of meds again," Harry says instead of a response to Louis' statement. It serves as a reminder of why Harry dropped out, though. Money was getting stretched too thin. When they started having to ask themselves if they bought food or Addy's medication for her epilepsy, they had to make the decision to get Harry out of school. They had no other choice. 

Louis closes his eyes, sighing. "I swear we _just_ bought her some."

"I know," Harry agrees, but says nothing else because there's no point. There's no point in anything, really, because this is going to be their reality for the rest of their lives. Louis and Harry are going to work themselves ragged and keep falling behind on bills, and the second Addison gets old enough, they're going to have to force her to get a job, and she's going to grow up to resent them for not being good enough. They aren't good enough. They can't promise her food every night, and she has no fucking friends because neither of them have time to take her out and get her socialized -- she doesn't even have a family, for god's sake. All she has is Louis and Harry, no grandparents or aunts or cousins. The closest thing she has to family outside of them is Harry's friend from school, Zayn, and Louis' co-workers Liam and Niall, but even then, she sees them maybe once a month. 

"Did you wanna, like, do anything tonight?" Louis asks randomly, while mindlessly rubbing at Harry's ankle skin. "I could probably get hard. If you, like. Wanted."

"Louis," Harry says, pained. "Get up and go to bed."

His grip tightens on his ankle. "It's been four months since the last time we fucked. I realized that today. And that last time, you didn't even get off."

"Let's go to bed, babe. Please."

Louis sighs but listens. He pushes himself off the floor and winces before letting Harry lead him to bed. Addison's already fast asleep, her tiny snores filling the silent room. Louis squeezes his hand before crawling into bed next to her. She stirs slightly as Louis pulls her to his chest, but doesn't wake. 

"You're gonna hate yourself for sleeping on that shoulder in the morning," Harry mutters, knowing Louis won't move. When he doesn't, Harry shakes his head and clambers into bed behind Louis. "Goodnight," he whispers, his breath fanning Louis' neck. He runs his tongue over his teeth self-consciously; it's _recommended_ you brush your teeth twice a day, not a necessity.

"Goodnight, love."

Harry snuggles up closer behind him and prays to a god he stopped believing in a long time ago for a life he'll never get. 

-

Up until the last hour before he was kicked out, Harry loved his mom and his mom loved him. They were closer than most mothers and sons their age, and Harry -- oblivious, naive Harry -- didn’t ever really see that changing. 

Enter Louis. That’s when he started realizing maybe it wasn’t that simple, that maybe there were some things he could do that’d make his mom not want to be so close to him. He’s not sure if Anne suddenly started becoming more vocal about her homophobia around this time, or maybe he hadn’t noticed before, but whichever it was, Harry knew that he had to keep his boundaries clear with Louis. 

He doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but he does believe in infatuation at first glance, and shit, was he abso-fucking-lutely infatued with Louis. He wasn’t new to the school, although he was new to Harry, so when he sat in front of him during a ninth grade social studies class, Harry wanted to know more about him. It helped that Louis wanted to talk to literally everyone, and they quickly became best friends. 

Harry has known he was gay since he was nine. He knew he liked Louis in that way for sure when they went to the movies together and he spent so long picking out his outfit, trying to make sure he looked nice. And he knew that his mom hated gays -- like, _really_ hated them -- when they were watching the news while eating breakfast and she rolled her eyes and said that the fags were trying to take over the world. 

He remembers freezing then. He remembers glancing at her, wide eyed and horrified, and asking her very carefully what she meant. At this point, Harry was in tenth grade and he was sure Louis was going to try and kiss him the last time they saw each other. 

She called them an abomination, sinners. Disgusting. Unnatural. And Harry stared at her, feeling suddenly very sick to his stomach, unbelieving of what he was hearing. 

“Yeah, but they’re -- they’re not hurting anyone,” Harry said shakily. Anne glared at him, and Harry quickly backtracked, desperate to stay on his mom’s good side even if it meant lying. “No, I agree with you, I do, but -- but they’re not hurting anyone. They’re not.”

She scoffed and took a sip of her coffee. “They’re hurting children. Have you ever watched the news? They’re sick, and -- ”

His phone rang, then, and it was Louis, and Harry scrambled to grab it and hurriedly said he had to answer it. 

He cried to Louis then, he cried and cried and cried, and Louis kept telling him that it was okay and she probably didn’t mean it. When Harry eventually calmed down (and he was sitting in his partially walk-in closet to make sure his mom wouldn’t hear him, and the irony wasn’t lost on him, it just hurt), Louis carefully and gently asked him why he cared so much. And Harry was terrified of finding out that the person he cared about most in the world after his mom was homophobic, too, so he tried to lie and say it just surprised him. 

“It’s okay if you are,” Louis whispered. “You know, gay. It’s okay. It’s -- ”

“Louis, God, shut the fuck up.”

“No. H, really, it’s okay. Your mom -- it’s just her generation. She probably doesn’t actually think that. It’s okay if you are. If you’re gay.”

Harry bit down on the edge of his sweatshirt and clenched his eyes shut. 

“And it’s okay if you don’t want to admit it out loud,” Louis said, ever so patiently, “but just know that it’s okay, all right? I’m -- I mean, I like boys, and that’s all right, right?”

Harry’s whole chest seized, and he felt like he got kicked in the fucking chest by a goddamn elephant or something. He clenched his teeth together tightly as he forced himself to open his eyes, and he felt so, so dizzy, then, and he nodded to himself. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly and breathlessly. “Yeah, Louis. Yeah, that’s okay, of course it is. I wouldn’t,” he sniffed and wiped his nose, “I couldn’t ever love you any differently because of something like that.”

Louis laughed. “Good. Now have that same energy about yourself.”

And Harry eventually did accept himself and the fact that his mother was wrong, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have to be careful. He told Louis, he told him so many times, that they couldn’t. When Louis kissed him for the first time behind the garage at one of their friend’s houses, Harry was so _mad_ at him, because he liked it and he couldn’t like it and he told Louis so many goddamn times that he couldn’t be in a relationship with a guy, not now or ever. Not until he was ready to lose his mother. When Louis kissed him again in the bathroom at school, Harry asked him to stop being so reckless, but he didn’t tell him not to do it again. 

“Just,” he whispered, clutching onto Louis’ forearms. “We just gotta be careful, okay?”

And when they kissed in the living room of Louis’ house when all his family was out, Harry felt so exposed and scared and like anybody could walk in on them at any minute. He didn’t stop it, though. That’s the first time he didn’t stop it. They kissed for a long, long time, and when they finally stopped, Harry burst into tears and said that he didn’t understand why this was so wrong.

They fought about it for the first time, then. Harry coming out to his mom. Louis wasn’t pushing him at all, but he was encouraging him to rip off the band-aid because he was so sure that Anne wouldn’t think he was wrong for being gay. 

“I can’t,” Harry cried, his face hidden against Louis’ stomach. “I can’t, Louis, I can’t. We can -- I really like you, but you can’t expect me to lose everything for you. Not yet. Not when we’re still only juniors in high school.”

So they continued their relationship in hiding, and it eventually stopped being so scary. Harry learned to enjoy it more than he feared it. Everything was so normal for so long, and then they were graduating high school, and then -- 

And then Louis ranaway from home. It wasn’t that dramatic, it really wasn’t, even though it felt terrifying in the moment. Louis called him to tell him that he left his house and gave him his new address, and Harry drove two hours to meet him at his new apartment that looked far too worn down already, and Louis very calmly explained to him that he was sick and tired of being his step-dad’s punching bag. 

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, horrified at the implication. His arms were wrapped around Louis’ middle and his legs around his waist as they sat on the mattress, one of the only things in Louis’ apartment, and Louis shrugged. 

Very calmly, he said, “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen the bruises, H.” He laughed and kissed Harry’s wrist. “I appreciated you not bringing it up, I really did, but don’t tell me you haven’t seen them.”

And Harry had, so he just nodded and hugged Louis tighter and said they’d figure out the distance and it would be fine. Everything would be fine. 

The distance wasn’t a problem for long, it turns out, because two months later, Louis and Harry were caught kissing in Harry’s bedroom at two o’clock in the morning. They barely ever kissed in Harry’s home, but Harry allowed it because it was late and his door was shut and his mom almost always slept through the night. And then she was standing in the doorway, and Harry was already so scared, and then it all got that much more terrifying when she demanded that he leave right then and there. 

When Harry left, he had every intention of coming back. He thought his mom needed time to accept it, to accept him, and that never ended up happening. They talked twice after Harry was kicked out -- the first time, Harry was begging for her to let him back, crying and shouting that he wouldn’t see Louis anymore even though he knew that wasn’t true for a second, and the second time was when Harry very numbly got his bank account information from her so he at least had something to help Louis with. 

It was already so hard. So, so hard. Harry was freaked out twenty-four seven, Louis felt so fucking guilty, and they were already running into money troubles because Louis had only the bare minimum for himself and Harry barely had any savings because he was a spoiled rich kid who hadn’t gotten a job yet. And they were both so naive, so fucking naive, because they actually thought they could get Harry through college using financial aid and whatever else they could scrape together themselves. It was the goal for so, so long, it was their one hope, the one thing they were banking on to save them, and then it was stolen. 

Barely seven months into it, Gemma was at their doorstep with Addison. He hadn’t seen his sister in years, not since she was kicked out for her drug addiction, and he took the baby because he didn’t feel comfortable leaving her with Gemma and he thought Gemma was going to come back for her. 

She never did. 

Harry remembers the last week he got to spend in college. He attended every single class like normal, and he sat in the front and tried his hardest to absorb every ounce of information his professors were giving him. He wanted to learn, he wanted it so bad. He wrote his last paper for his general education English class on the affordability of college that took way too many hours that he could’ve spent working, and he ended it informally saying that he was being denied an education just because he couldn’t write a check. He hand-delivered it to his professor and then that was that. It had to end there, because he had a child to take care of.

The depression he faced after that was probably the hardest thing he’s ever pushed through. Out of everything, that was the thing he thought was going to break him. Everything felt so draining and he cried over the smallest things and he kept getting mad at the only people in his life who were trying to help. It was terrible, and it felt life-threatening, and that’s shit to think about because he doesn’t know if he got through it by now or if he just got used to it.

They’re going to die like this, him and Louis. They’re going to die without a retirement fund, working themselves to the bone in order to survive. He’s going to be one of those eighty year olds greeting at Wal-Marts. He can’t afford to shop at Wal-Mart anymore. Maybe Addison has a chance, except she probably doesn’t, because they won’t be able to afford a college education for her. They keep trying to start up a savings account for her, but they always end up dipping into it until it's empty because this or that comes up. She’s going to hate them for making her life so hard, and if she does somehow claw her way even to the middle-class, she won’t want to help them. She shouldn’t have to. And it’s hard to face that reality. Harry’s been looking it straight in the eye every day for the last four and a half years, and it never takes on a less terrifying form.

-

“Here.”

Harry glances up, and his co-worker Lydia is in front of him holding out a neatly packaged sandwich with a side of cut veggies. She’s a kind woman in her early sixties, and she has been packing a lunch for Harry every shift they work together since she started working here a year ago. He’s finally at the point where he’s not embarrassed accepting her help, and yet they’re both being let go in only a couple of weeks. 

“I bought my own lunch today, but thank you.” He gives her a kind smile and she rolls her eyes. 

“A bag of expired potato chips isn’t lunch,” she says, putting the food down in front of him. “Just eat it, Harry.”

So he does after quietly thanking her. They don’t really talk at lunch, they just enjoy each other’s company and that’s enough for them. They’re too tired to talk. Harry is, at least. Today, though, both of them find the energy. 

“Any luck finding a new job yet?”

Harry shakes his head. “I’m hoping Tim won’t let me go if I beg hard enough.”

“Fat chance.” She scoffs and shakes her head. “Jerry’s been here for ten years and he was one of the first to be cut.” 

Anxiety claws at his belly. 

“I think I’ll go back to that laundromat I used to work at,” Lydia says, looking completely heartbroken by the idea. She tries to smile. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“How much were you making?”

“Ten-fifty an hour.”

Harry couldn’t make that work. He couldn’t. He’s at least getting twelve/hour here, he couldn’t risk that dollar and fifty cents. It’d put so much more weight on all of their shoulders. Still, he asks if she could put a good word in for him if she gets the job herself, and she agrees. 

Lydia stares at him for a few seconds, and it makes him queasy. Or maybe that’s just the stress, he doesn’t know. Either way, he’s forcing himself to eat the sandwich. There’s barely any food at home. 

“You’re so young,” she says sadly. 

He looks down at the table self-consciously. “I’m twenty-two. Not that young anymore.”

“Please,” she scoffs. She looks at him sternly, like he’s being an idiot. Maybe he is. But if twenty-two is young and he feels this sore and tired, he doesn’t know if he wants to reach what is considered to be old. “You’re still a baby. You shouldn’t have to worry about money like you do. What happened to this country?”

“Same thing that’s always been happening,” Harry says, confused. Poverty isn’t anything new. It’s new to him, but it’s not new to Chicago and it’s definitely not new to America. “This place has always been a mess, and it doesn’t care how old you are.” His daughter is fucking four and dealing with this already.

It’s quiet like normal for the rest of their break. 

-

-

Looking back, Harry really fucking hates himself for being so negative. He thought things were shitty then, and fuck. If only he knew then what he does now.

It all spiraled out of control when Harry's two-week notice was up. He came into work despite no longer being employed there and Tim had to pull him aside in his office to gently tell him that he was sorry but they were going to have to part ways. Through trembling lips, Harry had begged and pleaded. _Please, Tim please, you don't understand. I have a daughter, she's four, I can't take care of her without this job_. It was useless, though. Tim had given him a look of pity and asked Harry to leave. 

From there, Harry scrambled to find a new job. He looked and looked and looked but the economy was shit and so was his experience, and he got rejected and rejected and rejected. Lydia’s laundry mat wasn’t hiring. He asked Zayn if they had any openings at the record shop he worked at, and Zayn told him no. Harry asked again a few days later, and Zayn said no. The third time Harry asked, the desperation clear in his tone (“I’ll clean the fucking toilets with a toothbrush, okay, just -- just tell your boss I’ll do anything, _anything._ ”), Zayn sighed quietly and asked how desperate he actually was. 

“I haven’t eaten in two days,” was Harry’s response.

Zayn offered it gently. “There’s this club,” he started. “It’s called Hot Shot. It’s not far from you, and my friend Brad makes good money there, and he’s -- you’re a lot better looking than he is, is all I’ll say.”

Harry’s stomach dropped and he closed his eyes. That was -- he hadn’t thought about that. Sex work. Which is stupid, probably. Who knows how much money he could’ve been making on the side by sucking random dudes off in the alley. And then he realizes how absurd he is and curses Zayn out, and it only lasts a minute before he shuts up and takes a deep breath to try and combat the panic. 

“How much money does your friend make?” He sounded so weak, then. So pathetic. _Young_ , is what Lydia would probably say. As he waited for Zayn’s answer, he bit his thumb nail so hard the skin around it bled.

“I don’t know exactly,” Zayn said. “But I can tell you I stopped asking after he bought a brand new fucking car that I definitly couldn’t afford. And look -- it’s not going to be crazy figures, or anything. I mean, you have to be good. Really good, to get tips, you know?”

Harry felt sick. His body was hot all over and he felt breathless. “I could learn,” he said, voice caught in his throat. He echoed the sentiment clearer, and Zayn sighed. 

“It’s dangerous,” he warned, but Harry didn’t care. He didn’t care. He had to do what he had to do, dangerous or not. 

Harry told him he’d think about it. A week later and still no luck in finding a different job, Louis came home late from work with his arm in a sling and a guilty looking Liam in tow. Louis' jaw was clenched so tightly Harry thought he was going to crush his teeth, and Liam was the one to tell Harry that Louis had fainted at work so they called the ambulance and it turns out the reason his shoulder hurt so much was because he broke his shoulder god-only-knows-when and it hadn't healed properly, obviously, because Louis didn't stop working. 

But now he had no choice to quit working, because his boss wouldn't allow it. It's a liability issue, apparently, and he 'liked Louis too much' to let him hurt himself further. 

So they were both out of a job, and Louis was only working his part time job and bills were getting late-late-late and Addison needed a refill on her medication and really, there was no other choice.

He takes the job on a Monday. It’s a Tuesday when he goes to see the club. It’s clean, which is the first thing he notices. It makes him let out a nervous, wet laugh, because why is that the first thing he observes? The dancers seem happy. The customers, too. He only feels sick to his stomach once, when the club manager Josh looks him up and down, asks him to take his shirt off, and says although he’s a bit skinny, he will do. Like he’s an object, or something. 

_At least he didn’t ask to see my dick,_ Harry thinks numbly to himself as he takes his seat on the train. He wants a car of his own. Any car, really. When Louis was working two jobs, it just made sense for him to have the car, and Harry has gotten used to taking the train. Plus, Harry isn’t fond of the idea of his boyfriend and child on a train. It’s safe, usually. But still.

“What’d you do before this, then?” one of the workers asked. He was grinning at Harry like it was funny, like Harry enjoyed standing there when he has a kid and an injured boyfriend at home who are wondering what the fuck they will have for dinner tonight. 

“Answered phones,” Harry said, feeling so detached from reality. “I answered phones.”

The guy laughed again and told Harry that he’d be out of her within the week. He seems too normal, apparently, and normal people get scared off by a little hard work. 

He feels the lowest of low when he gets home. He didn’t tell Louis where he was going or that he was even thinking of taking this job; all he told him is that he was going to go beg for a job at a restaurant down the street, which he did, to be fair, but that was before he visited the club. He’s scared of what Louis’ going to think of him. Losing Louis is his greatest fear, because what the fuck else does he have to lose, and he’s sure this will be it. Being gay was the final straw for his mom. Becoming a stripper might be it for Louis. 

“Where’s Addy?” he asks quietly when he comes in to find Louis by himself in the living room, cleaning out a cabinet. He’s been restless during the days. At night he can still work at the restaurant; during the days he has nothing to do. 

“Sleeping,” Louis answers, distracted. “She wants to come with me to the restaurant tonight so I told her to sleep.”

Harry’s heart twists at that. He’s feeling awfully emotional today. Slowly, he sits down on the couch. “Why? I’m home.”

“I don’t know. Routine, I’m pretty sure. She’s kind of attached to me, you know that.” He turns to Harry and holds up an old Pink Floyd record. “You think I could sell this to someone?”

Harry stares at it mindlessly. Maybe it’s good that Addison wants to go with Louis -- Harry’s due for a good cry. “Probably. For, like, ten bucks, maybe.”

Louis scowls. “It’s Pink Floyd. It’s worth more than ten bucks.”

They sold Louis’ record player a long, long time ago. They got a hundred bucks out of it, which wasn’t enough to snuff the panic they had at the time. They didn’t know how to stretch a hundred dollars then like they do now. 

“Do you get that job, then?” Louis asks, turning back around to face the dresser. That’s good. This’ll be easier if Louis isn’t looking at him. “I’m assuming no. You seem sad.”

Harry has to swallow twice, three times, in order to feel like he can breathe properly. “Um, no,” he says shakily. His flexes and releases his hands against his thighs a few times. “But I, uh. I did get _a_ job.”

Louis doesn’t turn around yet. “Yeah? Where?”

It takes a solid minute for Harry to say it. When he finally does, his fists are clenched tightly shut and he’s staring at the ceiling. “You know that club Hot Shot?”

He hears Louis turn around. He must know where this is going. Louis has never been dumb. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. Are you -- what, then? A bartender?”

Harry wants to say no, but the word won’t come out. He sits there, frozen. And tired. He’s so tired. 

“You are absolutely fucking insane if you think I’d let you whore yourself out like that,” Louis snaps, and it’s harsh and it’s mean and it makes Harry flinch. “Harry. Fucking look at me.”

Harry does. He expects to see anger or resentment or something worse, and all he’s met with is heartbreak on Louis’ face. “It’s just a job,” Harry says weakly. “It’s just -- it’s just a job, Lou.”

“No. You aren’t taking it.”

“I already did.”

“Well, fucking take it back,” Louis snaps, standing up. “You aren’t doing that.”

Harry stares at him, at a loss for words. He tries his best to find some. “It’s not prostitution. It’s only stripping.”

The look on Louis’ face makes Harry’s stomach roll violently. He has to look away from it, from the disgust, and he lets out a small cry. He hasn’t cried in so long. He usually doesn’t let himself, but right now, he has absolutely no control of it. 

“We don’t have a choice,” Harry cries. He tries and fails to keep the strain out of his voice. It’s okay if Louis sees him cry, he tries to convince himself, but it feels untrue. He can’t cry when Louis doesn’t. 

“I’ll figure something out.”

Harry closes his eyes, his wet eyelashes feeling sticky against one another. “There’s nothing to figure out.”

“I can’t believe you,” Louis spits. “I can’t -- I can’t _believe you,_ Harry, _shit_.”

“Zayn’s friend makes good money doing it,” Harry says. He feels frantic, now. His knees feel weak when he stands, but they don’t fail him. “We can -- just for a few months, maybe. Until we get back on our feet. And when things level out, I can quit. Please, Louis, don’t hate me.”

Louis shakes his head. “It’s dangerous.”

“I can handle my own.”

“Are you fucking -- ” Louis lets out a mean laugh and he throws his hands up and turns around so he doesn’t have to look at Harry. Shame boils Harry’s blood. “You know how easy it would be for someone to drug you?” he asks, turning back around. “Drug you and rape you, or drug you and kill you, or all fucking three, or -- what if they follow you home, huh? You ride around on the fucking _train_. Anybody could stalk you and you’d have no fucking idea until you were fucking dead on the side of a street somewhere.”

Harry doesn’t have anything to say to any of that. He knows the risks. But he also knows the risks of being so poor that their daughter didn’t eat dinner last night. That can’t become a habit.

“And maybe nothing that extreme happens,” Louis continues. “But you know what will happen? What’s a given? That you’ll be touched in ways you don’t like, by people you don’t like. You’ll be fucking sexually assaulted every fucking night, are you -- how could you even _consider_ agreeing to that?”

Before he can answer, Louis’ eyes flick to somewhere behind Harry, and his face softens. Harry almost doesn’t want to turn around to greet his daughter, but he doesn’t really have a choice, does he. He doesn’t want her knowing something is wrong. Quickly, he blinks back the tears and turns to her, where she’s standing in the doorway with her scratchy blue blanket pressed to her chest. She looks tired. 

“Hey, Adds,” Harry says as he tries to form a convincing smile. “You going to work with Dad tonight?”

She nods and comes over to him. In her way that shows him he wants up, she pulls at his pant leg and looks up at him. “Please,” she says, and Harry easily obliges her. As soon as he has her in his arms, she curls into him and presses her face against her neck. She’s missed him. It’s so easy to read her. 

“You could stay with me, baby,” Harry says. “Tonight. If you wanted. You don’t have to go to work with Dad.”

“But it’s Tuesday. There’s tacos on Tuesdays.”

“I could bring you home a taco, love. You know that.”

Harry flinches at the sound of Louis’ voice. It’s the reminder that he’s here, of the fight they just had. And there's a hard edge to his voice, like he’s still angry enough to be unable to hide it from Addison. Harry turns to him, his grip strong on Addy’s hip, and mouths an apology to him. He _is_ sorry. He has to be sorry. But it’s not his fault he hasn’t gotten any of the thirty jobs he’s applied for in the last few weeks.

Louis doesn’t look forgiving at all. Instead, he glances away with his jaw set firmly before leaving the room, mumbling something about needing to get ready for work. 

-

His first shift is the following Monday. He spent the last few nights watching and trying to learn. It felt entirely intimidating at first, watching some of the moves the dancers did that Harry couldn’t even dream about doing, but he quickly caught on to the fact that most of the customers don’t need all that fancy stuff -- he saw someone get a hundred dollar bill thrown at him just for shaking his ass. Harry can do that. 

Louis’ been cold to him all week. He says he’s not angry, and when he told Harry that, the relief only lasted a few seconds, because then Louis is saying, “Just kind of feeling blindsided. I didn’t know you were the type of person to do something like that.”

And he knows Louis didn’t mean anything vicious by it. He knows that. Louis has everything right to be surprised, and he wasn’t trying to imply Harry’s this filthy little slut, or something. He was probably only saying he hadn’t realized how desperate Harry is, or how scared he is. He’s sure that’s all he meant, because Louis is a decent man and he’s always been kind to Harry. _Always._

Harry’s surprised by the bone-crushing hug Louis envelops him in before he leaves for work. He holds Harry tighter than he probably ever has before, and he tells him sternly to be careful. 

“I will be, Lou. Promise.”

Louis kisses the side of his head before taking a step back and looking at Harry’s outfit. It’s not anything fancy -- the thrift stores aren’t well-suited to find hot stripper clothes, apparently -- but it’s good enough. Some of the dancers dance in jeans. You just have to sell it in any way you know how, one of the bartenders told him last night. _You’ll figure it out. You’re cute enough to make it._

He’s wearing a tight pair of black jeans with a black lace top that was in the women's section. The underwear he found were in the women's section, too, but he’s not going to talk about that. (Josh said he’s got an innocent aurora around him that the older men will be drawn to. He told Harry he could probably get away with dressing more feminime because he doesn’t have all the hard muscles and impressive body. He’s dainty, Josh said, whatever the hell that means.)

“Do I look stupid?” Harry asks quietly, the shame and insecurity he feels evident in his voice. Louis quickly looks him in the eye and shakes his head. 

“No,” he says softly. “You look good. You always look good.”

Harry nods. He doesn’t agree with that, but he doesn’t know what else to say. There’s nothing left to say; Harry’s about to go shake his ass for old rich men, and he basically forced his boyfriend into being okay with that. 

“You keep applying for other jobs,” Louis says. He sounds stern, and to punctuate it, he lightly holds Harry’s chin. “The minute you get something else, you quit, all right? The very second, love, I mean it.”

“Okay,” Harry breathes out, nodding. He’s so fucking nervous. “Okay. Yes. I agree with you.”

Louis nods once. “Good. I have to leave now, but just -- be safe, okay?”

“I will. I’ll try.”

-

Harry works there for exactly two and a half months, almost every night. When he starts to get into the swing of things, he’s allowed to work weekends, too, and those nights are the best nights for money. He doesn’t earn thousands upon thousands of dollars during that time, but he does earn almost double what he was making at his last job. It helps. It helps _significantly_. It’s not nearly enough to change everything, or change much of anything at all, really, but it does take some pressure off of them. Harry doesn’t panic whenever he sees a new bill in the mail. 

Still, when he gets a call-back for a job opportunity at a library, he’s beyond praying that he gets the job. And when he does get it, he doesn’t even flinch at the low amount of ten dollars an hour. It’s not enough, and it will put them back in a bad position almost immediately, but the only thing keeping Harry’s head on straight about the whole stripping thing is knowing he gets to quit the second a better opportunity comes by. 

He doesn’t talk about the club much with Louis. Louis doesn’t ask, and Harry isn’t in a hurry to tell him anything. All Louis wants to know is if he’s being safe, and Harry always is, so there’s nothing left to talk about. 

There are only two nights that Harry opens up about it to Louis. The first is when Harry comes home crying because a customer yelled at him, absolutely tore into him, for no fucking reason. Called him all sorts of things, and when he complained about it to Josh, Josh just said that that’s the sort of thing he gets off on and they won’t kick him out because he’s a good tipper. Louis held him and coddled him and told Harry that he didn’t deserve it, even when Harry could see the hardness in his eyes. He was still angry about the whole thing. And the second time is when Harry actually got punched in the jaw for accidentally bumping into someone while he was going to the bar to get a glass of water. Louis was beyond pissed, and Harry got over it fairly quickly because it was light enough to be able to be covered with makeup. 

It wasn’t all bad. Really, it wasn’t. He made a few friends there and he got to eat for free. That in itself helped them save a few dollars a day, which adds up. Again: Harry’s extra money from stripping helped, but it didn’t fix anything. 

Louis is beyond happy when Harry tells him he’s going to quit. His arm is out of the sling, although it’s still tender and he doesn’t want to immediately go back to stocking. It was broken for a long time, and the internet says that might mean it’s more susceptible to being re-broken. He’s been picking up more shifts at the restaurant, and the minute he finds something else, he’ll take it. If Harry works part-time at the library and Louis works part-time at the restaurant, that won’t be enough, but they’ll figure it out. They will. Between the two of them, their names are in a pile of application of every establishment within an hour of them in Chicago. One of them is bound to stick. 

-

A month after Harry quits his job at the club, it’s May and he’s still working at the library and has recently gotten in at Lydia’s laundry mat, too. Now he’s the one who has two part-time jobs while Louis only has the one; it’s tiring, and he doesn’t know how Louis did it for so long. Between the two jobs, he’s working almost sixty hours a week (and goddammit, Harry keeps telling himself he’s going to stop allowing the library to work him overtime if they aren’t going to allow him to work full-time there, but he never has the guts to) and Louis’ working thirty hours a week. It should be enough, and it would be, if they didn’t start so far in debt. 

It’s okay, though. They’re back to a somewhat stable place. Most of the bills have gone back to being only late, not late-late, and food is a promised thing again. 

It should feel good, but Harry is so drained and defeated that nothing feels good anymore. Louis feels the same way. It’s just the way things are. Louis was on to something when he got that _it is what it is_ tattoo all those years ago. Harry thought it was a little corny at first, and now he understands it so well he can’t think anything negatively about it. 

Between his shifts one day, Louis and he are sitting at the kitchen table trying to figure out all this kindergarten business. About a week ago, Harry printed off a few forms for a school nearby from the library’s printer, and it’s been stressing him out ever since. They need to get her a backpack and pencils and glue and whatever the fuck else kindergarteners need, and the stuff they can’t find at a thrift store shouldn’t be too expensive, but it’s just -- it’s so stressful. They need to get her more clothes, too, shit.

Harry’s halfway filling out of a form when he just stops. He doesn’t know why. The idea of writing anymore seems far too complicated. Louis doesn’t say anything at first, but after a minute or so, he bumps his knee against Harry’s. 

“Come on. You leave in twenty minutes and I don’t feel like doing this by myself.” He takes the pen from Harry and drags closer to himself. He squints at it, mumbles something about immunizations and checks a box. 

Louis ends up finishing the form himself, and once all the boxes are all checked and the lines are filled, there’s nothing else to distract themselves with. They’ve both been rewired to move constantly, and when they have a chance to slow down, it’s hard to digest. 

“You okay?” Louis asks quietly. “Just tired?”

Harry nods and murmurs something that’s supposed to sound like a yeah. It’s not really the truth, he’s not just tired, but he doesn’t know how to verbalize what he’s feeling, and since Louis’ feeling the exact same thing, he feels it pointless to even try.

-

He thinks about calling his mother almost every day. 

Usually, he thinks about how their conversation would go. Would she still be angry? Almost certainly. But would she miss him enough to hide that anger, if only for a few minutes? He’s not sure. Does she miss him? Surely. There’s no way she doesn’t. She missed Gemma after she kicked her out. Would she even answer the phone? He’s not sure of that, either. He doesn’t have his phone anymore. Neither does Louis. If they need to talk to each other while at work, they just use the work phone. He doesn’t know if his mother would answer a call from an unknown number. 

He fantasizes about what their conversation would be like every single day. Sometimes he does it to help him fall asleep, or just during the day to occupy himself. It’s sick. He’s surprised he hasn’t driven himself mad with it yet. 

On Mother’s Day, though, he gets an actual urge to call her. It’s strong, too. He wants to talk to his mom. He just wants to talk to his mom. He doesn’t know why; it’s not like she could offer him anything. It’s not like he’d be honest with her about everything going on in his life. But he really wants to talk to her. Maybe his brain still wrongly associates her with comfort and safety and love. Whatever it is, he wants to call her. So badly that he works himself to tears over it. 

_Hi, Mom_ , he’d say. She’d probably get angry with him. _Why are you calling, Harry?_ He’d say, _I don’t know. Just wanted to hear your voice. Oh,_ she’d say. Or maybe, _I wanted to hear yours, too._ Maybe he’d say something about the weather next. Or ask if she’s still living in his childhood house. Maybe she would’ve hung up by that point, though. He doesn’t know. _I love you,_ he’d say. _Even after what you did, I love you._ And she’d probably say that she loved him too, or she’d call him an abomination again. Who really knows. 

He pushes off the feeling for three whole days until finally he decides to just do it. He wrote her phone number down before he sold his phone, and he brought the piece of paper with him to work. Library’s aren’t very busy, are they, so he has the freedom to use the phone and call her. He types her phone number in, stares down at the phone for a solid minute, and then presses the enter button. 

He’s biting down on his thumbnail when the line picks up. She answered. She actually answered. It’s not relief he feels -- it’s fear. It’s panic. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t have a clue. He’s gone over this exact scenario in his head so many times before, and now he's at a loss for words. 

“Hello?” she asks. “Who’s this?”

Tears flood his eyes quickly, too quickly, and then he’s sat hunched over the desk in a library with a hand over his eyes. This was a bad idea. He doesn’t know why he thought he could handle this. He doesn’t know why he thought he wanted this. 

“Hello?”

He takes a deep breath. Tries to, anyway. He forces himself to say, “Um. Hey, Mom.”

He thinks that’s the hard part. He thinks he’s in the clear now, that he’s identified himself and they’ll talk. Not a single part of him is naive enough to think she’d accept him and forgive him wholeheartedly, but his gut is telling him that this isn’t going to end poorly. That this conversation was going to look like every time he imagined a positive, happy conversion between them. His gut is wrong, because there’s a faint, “Oh,” or maybe just a gasp, before the line goes dead. 

As soon as she hangs up on him, a rock forms in the pit of his stomach. He goes hot with emotion; anger, betrayal, embarrassment. He kind of just feels stupid. He knew her denying him was a possibility, and yet he’s allowed himself to feel like this. 

Time gets distorted for him occasionally, and right now, he has no idea how long passes before there’s a quiet cough. He removes his hand from his face and slowly looks up, and there’s a young girl looking at him nervously with a book gripped tightly between her fingers. 

She flushes when he looks at her. “Is this where we check books out?”

He must look like a mess. Whenever he cries, his face stays red and blotchy for a long time afterwards. His eyes get a little swollen, too. Right now, though, he doesn’t really care about what some girl thinks about him, not when his mom just rejected him for the second time, so he grunts out an unhelpful sound, puts down the phone, and grabs the book from her. 

-

He doesn’t tell Louis about the phone call. There’s nothing to tell, first of all, and second of all, he isn’t exactly eager to share that with anyone, even Louis. It’s hard to hide the fact that something’s wrong, that he’s sad and feels terribly dejected, but he barely sees Louis enough for him to get a whiff of that, anyway. 

Lydia notices, though. It makes him want to cry; he spends more time with a coworker than he does his own boyfriend. 

“You seem upset,” she says. “Is everything okay?”

He decides to be honest with her, which doesn’t exactly make sense considering he fully thought he would be too embarrassed to say it out loud. “I tried calling my mom, and she hung up as soon as she realized it was me.”

They’re putting the newly cleaned and pressed clothes into the plastic and hanging them. When Harry finishes, Lydia halts, but Harry doesn’t. They’re the only ones working today, they have a lot to do, and Harry really, really needs this fucking job. He can’t afford to do anything half-assed. 

“That’s terrible.”

Harry shakes his head. “She made it very clear with me a while back she didn’t want anything to do with me. I should’ve expected it.”

Harry hasn’t told her any of this before. He’s bitched and moaned about how broke he is to her, but he hasn’t really told her how he got here. It’s embarrassing, and thanks to his mother, there’s always that fear of being shamed for being gay. The point is, he hasn’t told her anything about this before, so he’s not surprised that she seems shocked. 

“What did you do?” she asks. And Harry didn’t really _do_ anything. All he did was kiss a boy. Part of him wants to lie, or say that he doesn’t want to talk about it, but he doesn’t want Lydia to think he did something to his mother awful enough for it to warrant her ignoring him for life. 

As nonchalantly as he can manage, he says, “I’m gay, and she doesn’t agree with that,” with a strained smile before he says they need more hangers and leaves to go fetch them. It’s not the most mature thing to do, but he doesn’t care. He shouldn’t have even brought it up. There’s no point in dwelling on it. 

He manages to avoid Lydia and shrug her off for the rest of their shift. He doesn’t want to hear her thoughts on the situation, mostly out of fear of rejection. She’s older than his mom, so if it is just a generational thing (and that’s not an excuse, being brought up in a certain decade doesn’t make it okay to condemn people) Lydia might agree with her on her choices. 

He’s sad and tired and misses his boyfriend, who he’s going to stay up for tonight no matter how much his body begs him not to. He’s hardly functioning anymore; not healthily, anyway. Every morning he wakes up and does the bare minimum of what he has to to get through the day. All hope or happiness or goals he had are gone. His only goal now is to work hard enough that he has somewhere to lay his head at night. 

It’s startling, how quick you can get used to a life like this. He lived eighteen years in a big house with a big backyard with a few different cars in the garage. Eighteen years of his life, he got money from his relatives on holidays and if he wanted anything extra, he just had to ask his mom for it. Eighteen years versus four years -- that shouldn’t make sense, he should still be in denial, or something. He shouldn’t have been able to adapt to this so quickly. But he has, and it makes him downright depressed to think that. 

He almost, almost, manages to escape the unwanted conversation with Lydia. He’s about to walk outside when she stops him, and she forces him to stop and look at her.

She doesn’t look mad. She doesn’t look disgusted. She just looks sad, too. 

“You don’t deserve this,” she says quietly. He doesn’t realize what she’s doing until her arms around him, and even then, his brain trips over itself trying to remember that this is a hug. And it’s not that dramatic; it’s not like he isn’t hugged anymore because he is, everyday by his daughter and his boyfriend, but it’s. . . He can’t remember the last time he was hugged by anyone else. He can’t remember the last time he was hugged by a woman. 

Harry hugs her like he would if she was his mom. 

“I wish I was able to give you something more,” she whispers, stroking her hand down his back. He’s crying. He’s definitely crying. Maybe she won’t notice. 

His fingers curl around the fabric of her coat. “You got me this job. That means more to me that you could ever know.” It meant the difference between having to seriously deal with the fact they might not be able to afford their shitty apartment anymore and getting to push that conversation back to a later date. 

“You’re a good kid, Harry.”

His face twists. “Thank you.”

It’s a little awkward, then, when they pull away and have to face each other. Harry’s face is wet and red, and hers is colored an ugly shade of pity. They both let out a nervous laugh, and then there’s some awkward patting before Harry ducks his head and leaves. 

The ride home that night is the longest it’s felt in a while.

-

Sometimes Harry thinks about what would’ve happened if they weren’t caught kissing that night. 

They’d continue hiding their relationship, obviously. Maybe they’d fight about it sometimes, but it wouldn’t matter because they would both know it was for good reason. Harry would almost be done with college. He would be less than a year away from earning around sixty grand as an entry salary. Between semesters, Harry and Louis would probably go to different cities or countries where they could be out. Those trips would build a fire within Harry’s stomach that would turn to resentment towards his mom. Or maybe by then, Louis and Harry would have gotten their own apartment. A nice apartment. They talked about that sometimes. And Harry’s mom always encouraged the idea, because she had no idea they would be sharing the same bed there. And eventually Harry would be making loads of his own money, and Louis and him would be madly in love. Maybe even Addison fits in there somewhere. Maybe Harry would have still taken her in. It’d be the three of them against the world, and Harry would’ve gradually worked up the courage to tell his mom he was gay, and her rejection wouldn’t have stung so badly. How sad could he be, really, when he had money coming in and a happy family of his own? 

One kiss. One kiss that was supposed to be between he and Louis and he and Louis alone made the difference between that life and this one. 

Harry spends the night sleepily fantasizing about what their life could have looked like as he waits for Louis and Addy to get home. He’s mostly looking forward to seeing Louis; he loves Addison, of course he does, but right now he needs to not be needed. He wants to be looked after. He wants Louis to hold him and lie to him by telling him everything will work itself out. 

When he hears the keys in the door, his heart hammers in his chest happily. Finally. It’s half past midnight. He was starting to get worried. Addison and Louis walk through the door, and Louis looks exhausted as usual. 

“Let’s get to bed, babe,” Louis says, his lips pressed against Harry’s temple. “I’m exhausted.”

Harry tries not to sound too desperate. “I thought we could talk a bit before bed?”

Louis makes a sour face. He clearly doesn’t want to. He’d rather follow Addison, who is already heading to the bedroom. But when she goes and the door is shut, Harry grabs Louis’ wrist and, now far too desperate to keep it out of his voice, whispers, “I need you.” Nothing about it is sexy, just messy and broken and pathetic, but Louis somehow gets the message anyway, and he kisses Harry so hard that Harry momentarily forgets everything. 

The only place they feel comfortable fucking in is the shower, which usually doesn’t pose as a problem because they rarely have sex anymore. Now, though, they’re both exhausted and don’t feel like standing or wasting the water. They push through it, mostly because Harry keeps repeating _I need you, I need you, I need you_ like they’re the only words he knows anymore. 

They’re out of lube, and it’s enough to deter Louis, but not Harry. Harry doesn’t fucking care. About anything anymore. He just doesn’t fucking care, and he wants Louis to fuck him, and if that means promising Louis over and over again that he doesn’t mind, then so be it. It’s worth it later on, when he’s laying in bed with Louis pressed closely behind him and a faint pain in his lower back. 

“You gotta get a grip, Hazza,” Louis whispers against his shoulder. Not meanly. Never meanly. “Can’t have you breaking on me.”

Harry feels the most put together than he has in a while, so he doesn’t feel like too much of a liar when he promises Louis that he won’t. 

-

They didn’t anticipate the amount of money it takes to send a kid to school. 

The basics don’t catch them by surprise. Louis manages to get a backpack, a lunch box, a few stationary materials and a couple outfits that actually fit for under forty dollars at a thrift store. Harry thought that was the bulk of it, until he had to start making lunches every morning with too many plastic baggies and a water bottle. They make adjustments; Louis gets a reusable water bottle at the thrift store, and they start buying food that they don’t have to individually package themselves. It was also more than irritating when Addison came home from school with a syllabus requesting parents to buy their kids their own markers, colored pencils, glue, etc. because funds were cut short and the school can’t afford to buy enough for everyone. It’s fine; it’s annoying, but it’s fine. Harry spends more money on all that at the Dollar Store than he has on anything else other than food in a while, but it’s fine. 

Harry’s head starts to hurt when Addy ruins her backpack, comes home with a field trip slip that is asking for fifty dollars, and gives them a note from her teacher saying her shoes seem to be too small because she keeps taking them off and complains about them all within the same week. 

“So we won’t send her on the field trp,” Louis says, shrugging. “It’s a trip to the goddamn aquarium, she won’t care.”

But Harry can’t get the image of his daughter, his tiny daughter, standing in front of a great big giant tank with a dolphin in it out of his head. She deserves that. She deserves to see the world. And God knows that they won’t be able to afford to take her themselves any time soon, so he tries to push for it. He tries to break their motto that they only buy what they need, no matter if they have extra money laying around or not because they might need it later. And Louis gets mad at him for making him out to be the bad guy, which Harry understands. He understands. 

Addison bursts into tears when they tell her she can’t go. She throws a proper tantrum, and she cries and she cries and she cries, and Harry’s hands are shaking by the time Louis gives in and tells her fine, she can go. She can fucking go. 

“We have fifty bucks to spend,” Harry tells him that night, when Louis is kicking himself for giving in. “It’s okay.”

“We’re behind on the rent,” Louis reminds, shaking his head. “It was stupid.”

The worst of it comes when it’s winter time, and they find out that the school has policies. Children must have hats and gloves and scarves and boots and coats if they want to be allowed outside for recess. Addison has a coat, albeit not very thick, and she has a hat, but that’s about it. So they get her the rest, and then there’s another field trip, and it comes at a time where they actually don’t have twenty-eight dollars to give her, but they give it to her anyway because they want their daughter to see the ice sculptures. 

And then Harry loses his job. 

He loses his goddamn job at the library. More than a third of their income. Especially irritating because he doesn’t have access to a computer at his other job, the dry cleaners that won’t let him pick up anymore hours. 

Harry’s back on the hunt for another job and they’re back to holding their breath, and they have to turn down two field trips (and it makes Harry so goddamn angry; he doesn’t remember going on this many goddamn field trips when he was a kid) and so many playdate invitations and events the school is holding. Addison takes the first few no’s like a champ, but after they have to say no to a museum she really wanted to go to, she starts to get more and more upset. 

It’s February, they didn’t do anything for his birthday, and Harry’s coming home from a job interview when there’s an eviction notice on their door.

For a minute, he just stares at it. Nothing goes through his head, although panic and dread go through his body. His head is empty. It doesn’t start to make him feel ill until he picks it up, until he sees the words, _‘tenants must be out in thirty days’_ in black, bold letters at the bottom. 

So many emotions hit him at once. Confusion -- they’re behind on the rent, yes, but they always are, and it hasn’t been a problem before. They’ve gotten stern warnings, although they always pay it, even if it is a month or two late. They have been living here for five years, and they thought that bought them some sort of trust policy. Not to mention the fact that he knows for a fact a lot of tenants here don’t pay rent for months on end and have to be removed by police. 

Denial -- this can’t be happening. It can’t be happening, it doesn’t make sense, why here, why now. Why now?

Anger -- they can’t just fucking do this. They can’t. Where are they meant to go? Do they not fucking care? They have a child to look after. 

Cold, merciless fear -- they are completely and utterly screwed. 

Louis’ inside. He’s inside with their daughter, and Harry has to go and inform him that they’ve been evicted. Whoever put this fucking note on their door should have had the balls to knock and tell Louis. Jesus Christ, Harry is about to bawl his fucking eyes out. 

He stands outside the door for five long minutes before he pushes it open. Immediately, he’s met with a loud laugh from Louis followed by a much softer giggle from Addison, and it hurts so bad that it makes Harry flinch and clutch his stomach like he might throw up. 

“Hey, baby,” Louis says, and then, “Hi, Daddy,” from Addison, and Harry looks Louis straight in the eye. It’s enough for Louis to know something’s wrong. Immediately, he gets up and comes over to Harry. 

“What is it?” he asks, grabbing Harry’s elbow. “Are you okay?”

He can’t say it out loud, so he hands the notice to Louis. He watches as Louis reads it with furrowed eyebrows, and the more and more he reads, the harder and harder his grip on Harry’s elbow gets. 

“They can’t do that,” Louis says after a moment. “They can’t -- they can’t do that.”

Harry doesn’t even attempt to speak around the clump of nerves in his throat. The only thing he can offer is a nervous whimper. 

“Come on, we’ll go talk to them,” Louis tells him. “It’ll be fine. We can sort this out.” 

He sounds so sure that Harry feels a fraction better. Louis tells Addison very sternly to stay put before he steers Harry out of the apartment and downstairs to the front desk. 

“We need to talk to Selene,” Louis tells the man at the front desk. Selene is their landlord. She’s usually very polite. Seems like a logical, reasonable woman. Still, Harry doesn’t feel very hopeful as he waits for Selene to come and talk to them. 

Selene isn’t polite, turns out. She’s not reasonable, either. She’s downright fucking evil. Louis and her fight it out, very loudly and publicly, for almost twenty minutes. Selene keeps saying in that calm voice of hers that they have routinely been late on rent and she has potential tenants in line that won’t be. Louis keeps telling her that it’s not fair, they’ve been here for over five years, and when he realizes he’s not getting anywhere, he says they have a daughter and they can’t end up living in a car, which is where they would be if she kicks them out for real. 

“What can we do to stay?” Louis asks after the twenty minutes, tears running down his cheeks. His face is red with anger, and both of their hands are shaking. Harry’s are stuffed under his arms, but he can feel them shake anyway. 

“Pay me last month’s rent and three more months of rent now,” she says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Think of it as interest.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Louis snaps. “Who the fuck could afford to pay four months of rent up front, are you fucking insane?”

She clings to her unwavering, calm front well. “You have proven to be unreliable tenants. Pay for the next three months of rent now, and I might begin to trust you again.”

Harry stares at her, feeling numb. This one lady is single handedly scrambling their lives and she doesn’t even care. “That doesn’t sound very legal,” Harry says, and she scoffs at him. 

“Like you’d have enough money to get a lawyer.”

In that moment, Harry’s incredibly thankful that she’s a woman, because Louis would have most definitely punched her in the face if she wasn’t. Instead, he just calls her a cunt before grabbing Harry’s wrist and tugging him back to their apartment. 

-

They get it figured out. 

After a lot of panicking and too many things falling into place to be normal, they get it figured out. Louis borrows half a grand from Liam, and Harry borrows a hundred fifty from Zayn, and Louis somehow bargains his way into getting his paycheck early, and Harry starts working at the club again, and they figure it out. 

In the midst of panic that first night, Louis asked Harry if he would be willing to call his mom and ask for a small loan. Just a small one, he kept saying, like that’d make any difference. 

“I can’t,” Harry said. 

“I know it’ll be hard,” Louis told him, grabbing his hand. “I know it’ll be hard and embarrassing and maybe she’ll say no, but maybe she’ll say yes, so -- ”

“Louis. I can’t.”

Louis sighed. “Well, I can’t ask my mom, and -- Harry. We need to make money appear from somewhere, so -- ”

Harry, beyond stressed and exhausted, ripped his hand away from Louis and stood up. “Jesus, Louis,” he snapped, “ _I can’t._ I called her the other day and she just -- she fucking hung up on me, okay, so I _can’t._ ”

“Oh,” was all Louis said. “Oh. I didn’t know that.”

And they haven’t talked about that since. First, it was because they had much bigger issues to face, and then after they got the money, it became easier that way. 

The relief from avoiding losing their apartment doesn’t hit him. He thought it would once he had all the money in their hands, but it didn’t. He still felt like his heart was trying to break through his rib cage. He thought it’d hit him when they stopped by Selene’s office and gave her the cash, and it didn’t. The only thing he felt besides panic is a small ounce of sick satisfaction with how surprised she looked. But relief never came, and now Harry is hit with the worst anxiety he’s ever felt every single time he walks up to their door. 

Harry’s not stupid. They can’t survive the threat of eviction twice. 

-

There’s no point in dwelling on the in between. On the time between one eviction note to the next. There’s just no point. They try, and they struggle, and they pay back their friends, and they overwork themselves and it’s still not even enough, and it still ends with an eviction note on the door. 

Harry’s the one to find it. Again. Except this time, Louis’ at work and Harry’s left to cry by himself in their apartment (and it’s still theirs, it still is, even if it’s only for another thirty days). He screams and he shouts and he cries, he cries so hard. He’d break something if everything wasn’t already broken. So he just sits on the floor of their kitchen and cries and cries and cries, the eviction letter on the kitchen table like a centerpiece. 

They won’t be able to find a way out of it this time, Harry knows it. And even if they could, even if the same friends decided to help them out again and Harry went back to the club, how long would that last? It’s only been six months since the last notice. They’re screwed. They’re so screwed. 

When Louis and Addison get home, Harry’s curled up in the center of the bed, trembling and digging his blunt nails into his arm. It doesn’t hurt, and it’s not supposed to. It’s just meant to give him something to hold onto, because he feels sick to his stomach, genuinely ill, and he needs something -- anything, even it’s his own flesh -- to hang on to. 

“Oh, shit,” he hears Louis say, and he sounds breathless. “What the _fuck_.” Now he sounds angry.

Addison’s soft, innocent, “What’s wrong, Daddy?” is what forces Harry out of bed. He stumbles into the living room, sniffling quietly and holding himself like he’s about to shatter. The look Louis gives him is. . . it’s heart-stopping. He looks petrified and young, so young. Addison’s looking at Harry now, too, but he barely even sees her. 

“We’re so screwed,” he says, voice breaking on every other syllable. He lets out a shaky laugh. “We’re so -- we’re so done for. There’s nothing good that comes after this, Louis.”

Louis doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t tell him to stay positive or that he’ll figure it out or that he shouldn’t talk like that in front of Addison. He doesn’t say anything, he just sits at the kitchen table and puts his head in his hand. Neither of them move when Addison bursts into tears, clearly sensing that something is wrong. She just stands there in between them, crying and rubbing her eyes, and neither of them do a thing about it. 

The following morning, after a sleepless night, Louis and Harry talk to Selene, and she doesn’t give them an ultimatum this time. She tells them that there’s not a thing they can do to get out of this. Louis stares at her silently, chin raised like he’s trying to reserve some of his pride. Harry looks her straight in the eye and says, “I hope you can live with yourself knowing you’ve just put a five-year-old out on the street.”

She matches his stare. It’s not like he thought he was going to win anything by saying that, or that he thought she’d feel bad. Clearly, she has no remorse. “I’ve done it before,” is all she says before turning on her heel and heading towards her office. 

Harry’s not a violent person, but he truly considers what the ramifications of strangling someone to death might be. Prison, probably. A bed to sleep in every night and food to eat every morning. Doesn’t sound too bad at this point. 

“You have work soon, right?” Louis asks, and his voice doesn’t sound like his own. Harry nods silently. “I’ll take Addison with me to see Liam, okay? I can. . . I can talk to him.”

“About what?”

Louis shrugs and wipes a hand down his face. “He’s the wealthiest friend we’ve got,” he says. “If anybody might be able to help, it’ll be him. Even if -- even if all he can do is put us up in a hostel for a bit, or we could try interim housing maybe. I don’t know. I’ll have to talk to him.”

Harry feels so, so numb. He barely even processes what Louis says. “We could live out of the car, Louis, but not Addy. She’s five. She’ll get taken away from us.”

“Don’t start that kind of talk,” Louis snaps harshly. “She’s our fucking daughter, she’s not going anywhere. Just let me fucking talk to Liam first before we start freaking out.”

As if they aren’t already freaking out. Both of them are, so it’s a stupid thing to say. Regardless, Harry doesn’t argue and follows him back to their apartment. It’s still theirs, it’s still theirs, it’s still theirs. 

-

Liam offers to have them stay with him for a little while. However long they need is how he puts it, Louis tells him. Liam, sweet, caring, selfless Liam, immediately offered up his own house to them as soon as Louis told them that they were evicted. Weakly, Louis tried to say no, that it wasn’t necessary, but Liam insisted. It feels like the first break they’ve gotten since. . . Well, they’ve never really gotten a break, have they?

When Harry gets home and is told the news, he doesn’t even know how to react. Not in that sense that he’s so overwhelmed that he can’t process it, it’s like his body has forgotten that it’s allowed to feel certain things. Relief, hope; those have been eliminated from his system, probably, because he just keeps nodding and fumbling with his fingers as he tries not to cry, and not in a good way. He just wants to cry. 

“Harry, babe,” Louis whispers, grabbing his wrist, and Harry yanks his hand away like he’s been burned and he doesn’t even know _why_. 

“I’m going to shower,” he says, because he needs to get away from people before he completely explodes. And Louis lets him go, and the shower does him good to clear his head and calm him down. The cry helps, too. He sobs so hard his throat aches after he gets out of the shower. Once he’s dried off and dressed, he opens the door and makes a beeline to Louis, who’s talking quietly to Addison as he boils some water at the stove, and hugs him from behind. Louis relaxes into him easily enough, and he turns around in his arms so he can kiss Harry’s jaw and whisper to him that they’re going to be okay. 

Squatting in your friend’s house because you’ve just been evicted is a new definition of ‘okay’, but Harry doesn’t point that out. 

-

Liam comes by to talk to them about the logistics of things the following week. Already, there are some boxes that Louis got from work laying around. Since Harry and Louis are so busy, they’ve just been using whatever spare time they have to pack as they go. He hopes it doesn’t look too eager to Liam. 

The conversation is awkward, mostly because Liam is too nice for his own good. He asks Louis and Harry if it’d be okay if they bought their own groceries and things like that -- “But only if you can, and of course you can eat my stuff, too,” -- as if _they’re_ the ones doing _Liam_ a favor. 

“We’ll pay for our side of things across the board,” Louis tells him. “We don’t -- rent’s the thing that kills us. Everything else we can usually manage okay, but not rent.”

“Or Addison’s medicine,” Harry says quietly, because they’re running low and are currently unsure of how they’re going to pay for it. He’s not asking Liam to pay for it, of course not, but he doesn’t want Louis making them seem better off than they are. 

“If you can’t pay for her medication, let me,” Liam says instantly. “Seriously. I mean it. Don’t hesitate to tell me if she needs that.”

Louis shakes his head. “It’s okay. We’ve got it covered.”

So he’s still trying to hold onto a bit of pride, it looks like. He’s embarrassed, trying to make things look better than they are, as if Liam isn’t sitting in their shitty apartment right now, seeing firsthand at how bad they’re doing. 

Liam lays out the rules as politely as he can manage. They can have guests over so long as it’s not too late or too early, as if Harry and Louis have many friends or time to invite them over. They can use his car if he’s not working, but they have to make sure there’s gas in it when they get back. Harry might actually take up that offer; he is so sick of riding around on trains all the time. Chores, like cooking and cleaning, should be rotated. And his last rule is that he doesn’t want any illegal activity going on in or around his home. 

“What, you think we’re heroin addicts or something?” Louis asks, _clearly_ joking, but maybe Liam does think something like that because he is too quick to say no, of course not. 

“We’ll stay out of the way as much as we can,” Harry tells him, once everything’s said and done. “We don’t want to be any trouble. Louis and I just have to figure out some stuff,” his voice is getting strained, and his throat is hot, “and then we’ll leave. We’re really -- um. We’re really grateful that you’d do this for us.”

Louis nods. “And Addison’s a good kid. She comes with me to work most days, anyway. She won’t be any trouble.”

“You three are good people, I know that,” Liam says, looking confused. “You’re not going to be a burden. I don’t want you three thinking you have to, like, hide in your room or something. Once you move in, it’ll be your house, too.”

Harry and Louis both agree to that, as if either of them aren’t going to try their hardest to make it feel like they don’t live there at all. They don’t want to be a bother. 

When Liam leaves, Louis and Harry cuddle on the couch together, holding each other tightly. They haven’t cuddled during the day in a long time, and he feels oddly exposed. 

-

It’s Harry's second shift at the gas station, and he can tell it isn’t going to last long. The owner of the store, Tony, doesn’t like him and hired him out of pure need. Harry had put in an application here months ago, and he didn’t get a call back until last week. Tony wasn’t happy with how scattered Harry’s resume was, at how he seems to jump from place to place, and Harry tried explaining that in every single case, he’d been let go because the companies were downsizing staff, not because he’s not a hard worker. Tony didn’t seem to buy it, and he still doesn’t, apparently, because every fifteen minutes or so, Tony comes over to give him another task, asking why it hasn’t been done. 

He’ll be let go from this job, too. As soon as Tony finds someone else willing to work midnights (and Harry won’t have time to go home between shifts, so he has his uniform for the dry cleaner’s on underneath his clothes) Harry will be cut. And that’s okay. Harry can’t keep feeling like a failure every time he gets canned by someone else. If he does that, he’ll go insane. 

The doorbell rings, signalling a new customer, so Harry stands up from where he was stocking the shelves under the counter. It’s a mom and her son. He must be only a few years older than Addison, and Harry can’t help but notice that his shoes are cleaner than hers and the coat he’s wearing looks softer than anything she owns. The little boy gives Harry a polite wave before his mom pulls him towards the direction of the chip aisle. Once they’re done shopping, Harry checks them out like normal. Everything goes smoothly, and the little boy waves goodbye to him. As they leave, Harry bends back down to continue shocking the shelf. It only takes Tony about a minute to come out of his office to stand beside Harry. 

“Are you going to flirt with everyone, then?” he asks. 

Harry doesn’t even bother looking up. “I wasn’t flirting with her, Tony.” At this point, there’s no point in playing nice. Nice never gets him anywhere. Besides, if push comes to shove, he can always go back to the club. He never thought a stripping gig would be his safety net, but here he is. 

“It sure looked like you were. And the last three females who have come in here.”

“I’m _gay,_ ” Harry snaps, glaring at Tony. After only a second, he regrets it; he doesn’t normally offer up that information to anybody, but this is ridiculous. _Tony_ is ridiculous. He quickly diverts his gaze, looking back down at the box in front of him. “I’m not flirting with anyone, okay,” he says meekly. 

Tony’s silent for a solid thirty seconds. “I thought you said you had a kid,” he says.

Harry closes his eyes briefly before opening them again and focusing on what he’s doing. “I do.”

“How does that work, then?”

“Why do you care?” Harry asks, and there aren't tears in his eyes. There’s not. Because if there were, that might indicate that he’s losing his grip, and he promised Louis he wouldn’t. 

“I don’t,” Tony says immediately, defensively, as he backs up. “Just -- I don’t want you staring at me, okay? Don’t make any moves.”

Harry lets out a hollow laugh. “I won’t.”

“You better not. And would it kill you to dust back here? It’s filthy.”

There’s no point in arguing, no point in pointing out that he’s only been here for forty minutes and there’s no way he caused much of a mess already. He just agrees quietly, and Tony goes back into his office. 

-

They both get sick a lot. Anytime a cold is working its way through one of their workplaces, they always manage to get it. It’s beyond irritating, but that’s what happens when you sleep like crap and don’t eat the healthiest. If you don’t take care of your body, you can’t expect it to take care of you. 

Louis’ the one to get sick first. He says one of his coworkers was out with the flu last week, so he’s not exactly surprised. It’s just a bit of a stuffy nose, a sore throat and a headache. He’ll be okay, and so will Harry, when he inevitably gets it next. 

Like clockwork, four days after Louis initially complains that his throat is sore, Harry wakes up with a pounding headache and a stuffy nose. And to make it worse, he has to be at work in an hour, from eight a.m. to four p.m., and his shift at the gas station starts at seven. He probably won’t bother coming home; instead, he’ll find somewhere to sleep for a bit before walking to the gas station. He’ll get off work at two in the morning, meaning he won’t be home until probably three. 

They’re supposed to be moving into Liam’s in five days, and they still have to pack a decent amount. They’re taking every last thing with them. Absolutely nothing is getting left behind if they can help it, not when they’ve worked so hard for it. It’s been stressing them both out, so Harry’s not been sleeping well. Worse than usual. 

Basically, Harry feels like crap already, and today is absolutely going to kill him. Thankfully, he doesn’t work until the afternoon tomorrow, so he’ll be able to get a decent amount of sleep. 

The day doesn’t start becoming difficult until one o’clock, just after Harry’s taken his break. He pushes through -- he has to, doesn’t he -- and after he’s finished at the laundromat, he walks around the area until he finds a park that isn’t very busy. He finds a bench that’s in the shade, pulls his knees up to his chest, and tries to sleep. Since he’s exhausted and sick, it isn’t very hard to sleep. It is, however, hard to _stay_ asleep, because he is paranoid that he’s going to sleep too long and miss his shift. He doesn’t have a phone to set an alarm with, so he has to get up and go inside of a cafe to check the time every time he wakes up and doesn’t know how long he was asleep for. 

After about the fourth time he’s done this, it’s six o’clock and he has to start walking to work. Louis _loathes_ Harry walking around by himself like this, especially when it’s the early hours of the morning, but Harry makes sure to stand tall and take advantage of his height and build. Nobody ever pays him any attention, aside for women who walk a little faster or scoot away when he comes around. He doesn’t take it personally. 

As usual, Tony is a prick to him. Any hope that Harry had for Tony warming up to him after a while is gone, because it’s been two and a half weeks and Tony still treats Harry like he’s an idiot. 

“You sick or something?” he asks after Harry says hello to him. He’s scowling at him, and Harry doesn’t look him in the eye. 

“It’s just a little cold.”

“Don’t go coughing around the customers,” Tony warns, and Harry nods, says he won’t. He doesn’t want any trouble, and he’s never really been anything but nice to Tony, so he doesn’t understand why Tony hates him so much. 

Harry’s just glad he still has a job here. 

At eleven, Harry goes outside to take his break. He sits down on the cement, the cool air feeling nice against his skin. Nausea has been coursing through him all day, so he has to talk himself into eating the package of peanut butter crackers he has as a snack. He’ll regret it later if he doesn’t eat now, so he does, even though his body makes it known that it’s not very happy with that. 

When he gets back inside, Tony glares daggers at him from behind the counter, saying he’s one minute later. Harry makes an indistinctive noise as a response. 

On the train, Harry sits in a section by himself, avoiding the homeless people for no reason other than that’s what he was taught to do as a child. Technically, he’s homeless. He doesn’t have a place to call his home anymore. Liam’s house is just that: _Liam’s_. 

He feels sick to his stomach when he gets home. As the day progressed, his headache intensified and his throat became all hot and scratchy, and he’s exhausted. To catch his breath, he lingers outside the door for a few minutes. He’s not ready to have anybody else need him right now. But after a minute or two, he starts to feel guilty, so he unlocks the door and walks inside. 

The first thing he sees when he comes inside is Louis, and it makes him smile tiredly. It’s always so nice to come home late to see that Louis’ stayed up for him, even though he should get some sleep. Louis’ sitting on the kitchen counter, and judging by the empty cabinets and the swarm of boxes around him, he’s been packing. 

“Hey, you,” Louis says, turning to look at him. “How are you? Good day?”

“It was fine,” Harry tells him. He sidesteps all the boxes to get to Louis, and when he does, he puts a gentle hand on his back. “Let me get the rest down for you. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Louis scoffs and blindly reaches behind him to swat at Harry. “Already did, thank you very much.” He carefully turns around and hops off the counter, and he’s so close and feels so warm, Harry just wants to melt into him. Louis holds up his hand, showing the bloodied napkin taped to his skin. “Sliced the shit out of my hand on one of those stupid plates. And we didn’t have any bandaids, so.” 

He seems so nonchalant that Harry expects the cut to be minor, but when he pulls back the napkin, it exposes a cut running across the length of Louis’ palm, and it looks deep. It makes Harry cringe. 

“Jesus, Louis. It needs stitches, don’t you think?”

“Probably,” Louis agrees, pulling his hand away and taping the napkin back down over the skin. “But my sister busted her chin on the window once, and it cost three hundred dollars for a few lousy stitches, so. It’ll heal on its own.”

It makes Harry feel so fucking guilty, even though none of this is really his fault. Either of their faults. Just a lot of shit luck, really. But it doesn’t matter what caused it. All that matters is Louis’ hand is about split in two currently and they can’t afford stitches to fix it, and Louis’ a server, so it’ll get irritated and will heal even slower. 

“I stole you a burrito from work,” Louis says, motioning the fridge. “Eat. You look like shit.”

Harry listens, even though he’s not sure how a burrito will make him feel any better. As he heats it up in the microwave, he asks Louis if he actually stole it, and Louis scoffs and says of course he did. 

“I’m not going to get in trouble, though,” Louis tells him, digging through a box, looking for a fork for Harry. He packed almost everything in the kitchen. “Don’t worry about it, people do it all the time.”

Harry nods, and then the microwave goes off before he can stop it. He cringes, hoping it didn’t wake Addison. After a few seconds and there’s no sign that it bothered her, he gets out his food and sits at the table, taking the fork that Louis fished out for him. 

“How’s Addy?” Harry asks, poking at the burrito. He’s not in the mood to eat, but he knows that he should. 

“Grumpy as shit. She’s mad that she didn’t get to see you all day.”

Harry frowns but doesn’t say anything. What is there to say to that?

“Do you think it’ll be any better at Liam’s?” Harry asks later on, when they’re getting ready for bed. Harry’s taking a piss while Louis’ poking at a cavity in the back of his mouth. 

“Yeah,” Louis says, voice muffled by his fingers in his mouth. “Can’t get much worse, can it?”

“Yeah. It could.”

Louis gives him a look as he pulls his fingers out of his mouth and wipes them on his pants. “You know what I mean,” he says. Harry nods, because yes, he does. Living at Liam’s is better than living out of their car, which was and still is a very real possibility. 

Harry nudges Louis out of the way of the sink once he’s done so he can wash his hands. As he does so, he watches Louis watch him in the mirror. 

“You look really sick, babe,” Louis says softly. He sounds apologetic, almost. “It’s only been a few days since I first got sick and I feel loads better. You look like you have the plague. I never felt that bad.” He touches Harry’s forehead with the back of his hand and frowns. “You’re warm.”

“I’m fine.”

Louis roughly taps his forehead to be annoying and then presses a kiss to his shoulder. “I’ll see if anybody at work tomorrow has any cold medicine.”

Harry agrees quietly before drying off his hands, grabbing Louis’ wrist and pulling them to bed. As soon as they’re settled next to an undisturbed Addison, Harry falls asleep faster than he ever has before. 

-

Liam helps them move in a few days later, as if he hasn’t done enough. He does have a truck, though, which proves to be helpful. Once everything is transported to Liam’s house, they start taking everything downstairs, where the three of them will be most of the time. Liam’s renting a nice house with three floors, and Harry, Louis and Addison will take over the downstairs. It has a bedroom and a bathroom, and really, that’s all they need. Addison doesn’t seem too pleased at the idea of sleeping in a basement, but once she realizes that it’s well-lit and spacious, she doesn’t seem to mind. As they unpack, she sits on the guest bed, playing on Liam’s tablet. 

Moving is a lot of work, it turns out. And Harry worked this morning before they began moving, so he’s already exhausted. He doesn’t complain, of course he doesn’t, but after about the third trip back upstairs and to the car, he starts to feel lightheaded and more nauseous. He’s still sick, and he definitely has a fever, but they’re ignoring that for now. Louis got some cold medicine from one of the girls at work like he said he would, and it’s helping. A little. 

After the fifth trip to the car, Liam grabs his arm and says, “Whoa, wait. You look super pale, dude. Do you feel okay?” 

“I just have a cold, I’m okay.” He shrugs out of Liam’s grasp to reach for a box, but Liam grabs his hand. 

“You’re shaking,” he says, concern bleeding into his tone. “Come sit down. Let me get you some water, come on.” He pulls Harry to the kitchen and tells him sternly to sit at the table, which Harry does. He feels like shit; he’s not going to argue. Liam pours him a glass of water and hands it to him, and Harry drinks from it slowly. 

“Are you sure it’s just because you’re sick?” Liam asks cautiously, and Harry has to narrow his eyes at him for that. 

“What, do you actually think we’re drug addicts or something?”

Liam’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “No. No. Why do you two keep saying that? I’m just saying, man. You and Louis are both a little skinny. A little _too_ skinny.”

Harry closes his eyes, shame coloring his cheeks. “Don’t, Liam. We’re fine.”

“When’s the last time you saw a doctor?”

Harry’s reluctant to answer. “When I was seventeen, okay, but it doesn’t matter. We’re fine.”

Liam’s about to say something else, probably something stupidly heroic, but Louis comes up the stairs, saying something about Addison’s toys. When he sees them sitting, he asks if they’ve gotten everything from the car. Liam, again, is about to say something before Louis narrows his eyes at Harry. 

“You look really pale,” he says, coming over to Harry and grabbing his chin. He stares at him like he’s going to see anything visibly wrong. 

“I _told_ you,” Liam mumbles, sitting back in his chair. 

“Do you feel okay?” Louis asks, and he touches Harry’s forehand. “You’re still warm. How sick do you feel?”

“I’m fine,” Harry says sternly, giving Louis a look he hopes reads as strict. “Go finish unpacking. There’s only a little left.”

Louis reluctantly agrees, and he goes with Liam following after he places a gentle kiss to his forehead. As soon as they’re gone, Harry sets his head on the table and concentrates on not throwing up. 

He swears he’s halfway asleep in less than a minute, until he hears Addison from downstairs. “Daddy?” she calls. “Liam?” So he pulls himself off the chair, takes another sip of water, and slowly descends the stairs. Addison’s at the bottom of the stairs, pulling on her shorts. 

“What’s the matter, love?”

“Where’s the bathroom?” she asks, and Harry sighs a little because yeah, that would have been a good thing to tell her about an hour ago. He guides her to the toilet and she thanks him. He feels decent for all of about two seconds, and then he’s so lightheaded that he has to grip the railing. Deciding not to push it, he sinks down to the floor, sitting on the bottom step and leaning against the wall. 

When Liam and Louis return downstairs, both carrying boxes, Louis kicks at his ankle and tells him to go to sleep. Harry barely opens his mouth before Louis tells him not to argue, so Harry sighs, pulls himself up, and goes to the bed. 

And holy _fuck_ , he’s forgotten what a proper mattress feels like. He groans quietly, almost out of pain; he’s not used to his body melting into a bed, he’s used to moving around, trying to get comfortable until he eventually falls asleep. And the pillows are nice, too, they aren’t lumpy or rough, they’re soft and squishy. 

“Can I get you anything?” Llam asks, and Harry is mad, almost, at him for ruining this moment for him. God, he’s learned his lesson and won’t ever underestimate the power of a good bed again. He mumbles out a small, “No,” to Liam before pulling the covers over him, and he’s so comfortable he could actually cry. 

-

It’s weird, living at Liam’s. For so many different reasons. 

First of all, living in a house is so different. There’s more space and less steps and not as many neighbors. There’s no evil fucking landlrod. The train ride to get over to this area is longer, but it doesn’t matter. He’ll take a longer commute over living in that shitty apartment any day. And he loved that apartment, he did, even as it started to break on them and get more and more bare. He loved it all the way up until it was stolen from them, so now it’s just a shitty fucking appartment. 

Aside from that, living with someone else is different, too. Harry woke up that first week more times than he can count, breathless and clutching onto Addison because he heard a noise and Louis was right behind him and Addison was right in front of him. And then he realized it was just Liam, and he could fall back asleep, only to do it all over again an hour later. And Liam always makes dinner for them, even when they tell him he doesn’t have to. Gradually, Liam’s figuring out just how broke they really are. 

“I didn’t know,” he told Harry one morning. Harry was staying home, missing his shift at work, because he couldn’t stop throwing up. Thankfully, the laundromat is more understanding than Tony is. If he had to call in on Tony, he’d be fired, probably. Liam was sitting by his feet in bed, a hand firm on his ankle. “You and Louis are like family to me, even though I don’t see you two all that often. If I would’ve known how tough of a spot you guys were in sooner, I would have helped. I don’t know why you didn’t ask for my help.”

Harry, who was still nauseous as fuck and half-awake, just shrugged and made a noncommittal noise into the pillow. He didn’t want to talk about it, ever but especially when he was feeling so poorly. 

After two missed shifts at the laundromat, some strong cold medicine Liam got him, lots of soup that Liam leaves at the bedside and many hours of sleep he usually can’t afford, Harry gets better and gets back into the swing of things again. 

It takes a month into living with Liam for him to sit them down to have a talk. He tells Addison to go play on his tablet somewhere else, and he looks so stern that Harry panics, thinking they’re getting kicked out. He tries to figure out why, tries to figure out what they’ve done and where they can go next, until Liam looks at them straight in the face and says, “You two work too much.”

Harry lets out a loud sigh of relief. Jesus Christ. Louis laughs. 

“I’m being serious,” Liam tells him, frowning. “It’s not healthy. Harry, you’re working, like, twenty hours a day sometimes.”

“Only sometimes, and I always have the next day to sleep in.”

Liam makes a face. “It doesn’t matter. That’s too much. That’s _insane._ ”

“We’re broke,” Louis says, on the verge of snapping. “In case you haven’t noticed.”

“You’re not paying rent anymore, and I’m sure your grocery bill has gone down a bit since living here, so you shouldn’t -- ” Liam pauses, takes a deep breath, and continues. “Right now you’re at a point that you can slow down for a little. I understand that times were tough before, and that they might be again in the future, but for right now, you need to take it easy. You have the opportunity to.”

Harry’s gut is twisting with embarrassment and worry. “We’re fine, Liam.”

“You’re not, though,” Liam denies. “Addison doesn’t see you at all some days. I don’t know how you two have a good relationship, considering you barely ever make time for each other. I mean, shit, I fully expected to have to hear you fuck, I bought noise cancelling headphones and everything, and you haven’t heard so much as a peep since you’ve moved in here. So unless you’re just freakishly quiet. . .”

“Addison starts school again soon,” Louis says, and now he’s angry. Now he’s getting his words out through gritted teeth. “Do you know how many fucking field trips a kids go on? A lot, apparently. And they’re expensive. And it’s really hard to tell your kid no. And this cut on my hand?” Louis raises his hand that has an actual bandage on it now, although it still hasn’t healed. He’s managed to reopen it twice now. “I most definitely needed stitches for it, and we couldn’t afford it, and now I’m pretty sure it’s infected and I’m still ignoring it because we still don’t have the money to go to urgent care. Harry’s been on the verge of flinging himself of a cliff for a fucking year now, and we don’t have the money to get him to see a therapist, let alone to get him on any sort of antidepressants or something stupid like that.”

Harry shoots him a confused look. He’s not -- that. He’s not suicidal. He never has been. He hates his life, yeah, but he doesn’t hate it enough to end it. And if he were to die, Louis couldn’t afford to take care of Addison on his own. 

“Did you know Harry was a stripper for a while?” he snaps, and Harry rolls his eyes and glances off to the side, hurt spreading through his chest. That’s not something he just wants Louis to tell people, fucking hell. “He got punched in the face one night, and I had to be all like, ‘Sorry, babe, that sucks, but you have to go back to work tomorrow because our daughter hasn’t fucking eaten properly in two days.’ Do you realize that?”

Liam stares at him, at a loss for words.

“I know you’re just trying to help,” Louis continues, calmer this time. “And you are. Seriously, Liam, I’ll never be able to repay you. But don’t talk about our fucking relationship or our money when you don’t understand what it’s like to be shit poor. Don’t talk to me about how many hours I have to work when you live in a house with three stories and I was considering the possibility of being homeless last month.”

He stands, then, and grabs Harry’s hand off the table, tugging on him to come with. Harry does, mostly because he’d rather face Louis right now than Liam. They go downstairs, and Harry’s fuming with hurt and anger, at both Louis and Liam, and he’s expecting them to at least talk about this, about any of it, about the fact that Louis thinks he wants to die. That’s the logical thing anybody would expect, right? What he doesn’t expect is for Louis to barely make it off the last step before he’s grabbing Harry’s face and kissing him, hard. 

“Jesus Christ, Louis,” Harry says, pulling away briefly before not quite understanding the point of doing so. Louis’ looking at him expectantly, and they’ve never been great at communication before, so Harry pushes down any sense of responsibility and tugs Louis closer by the back of his neck. 

_What the fuck are we doing?_ is all that goes through Harry’s head, up until the second they’re both naked and in the shower. It doesn’t matter what they’re doing anymore, not when Louis’ touching him in places he hasn’t touched him in a while and kissing him harder than he’s ever been kissed before. Who cares if they’re being stupid? Who cares if they’re having a lapse in judgment? They’re still young, they’re still in love with each other, and there shouldn’t be rules to how they figure it out. 

Still, Harry can’t help but feel like it’s a little out of character for them. Especially when, after they’ve finished, Louis carelessly washes off the come on his stomach before stepping out of the shower, drying off, and leaving the bathroom. Harry thinks that he’s done something wrong, and as he tries to figure out what, standing underneath the spray of the water by himself, Louis comes back and tosses clean clothes on the counter for Harry. He doesn’t say anything before he leaves again, but at least now Harry knows he’s not mad. 

Harry spends a few more minutes in the shower, trying to catch his breath and get his head on straight. He does eventually get out, changing into the clothes Louis brought him. They’re Louis’, which isn’t exactly weird considering Harry usually grabs for whoever’s clothes are the cleanest, but he can’t help feel like that adds to the puzzle of confusion. As he stares at himself in the mirror, smoothing over Louis’ sweater he realizes that Louis’ probably feeling awfully insecure at Liam insinuating they have an unhealthy relationship. Louis and Harry feel the same exact way about each other: the other is the only person in the entire world who will never let them down or ask for too much or care too little. The fear of losing that is shared between them, so of course Louis isn’t going to like Liam pushing on it. 

And Harry will take the time to reassure Louis that they’re doing fine, he will, but for right now, that’s not what he’s most worried about. Louis’ sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the TV playing the news channel but not looking as though he’s actually watching, and Harry sits at the head of the bed against the pillows. 

“I don’t want to die,” he says, and it sounds like a very surreal thing to be saying out loud. “Like, I’m not suicidal. I don’t know why you’d say that to Liam.”

Louis hunches forward further. “You’re depressed.”

“Probably. We probably both are. But that doesn’t mean I want to die.” He pulls one of his knees up to his chest, setting his chin on it. “You don’t want to either, right?”

Louis scoffs. “Please. Like I’d leave you to take care of Addison alone.”

It soothes Harry’s nerves, until he realizes that that’s not really a no. He decides not to push it; if Louis’ not going to do it, there’s no point in dwelling on it. Or something like that. “Okay,” he says. “And I hope you don’t get in the habit of telling random people I was a stripper. ‘Cause that’s, like, kind of really fucked up, Louis.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s _private_ ,” Harry snaps. “You’re ashamed of me doing it? Yeah, well, imagine how I feel. So don’t tell people. I’m not asking, I’m telling.”

Louis makes a grouchy noise before leaning back against the bed, stretching out. His head falls near Harry’s ankle. “I _just_ fucked you,” he says, a small smile on his face. “Shouldn’t you be a little less pissy?”

He’s joking, of course, so Harry lets the subject go and nudges Louis’ cheek with his toe. “You’re in kicking distance. I’d be careful.”

Louis tips his head back, and he’s smiling at Harry. Small and warm and quiet. He has work in an hour, and he’s leaving Addison to be with Harry and Liam. Addison loves Harry, and of course Harry loves her, but she does prefer Louis. Or maybe she doesn’t prefer him, maybe it’s just what she’s used to, since she’s always stuck following Louis around when he takes her to work. 

“I’m going to talk to Liam about getting a few hours in at my old job,” Louis tells him. “Not now, obviously. Not when he’s up our asses about ‘working too much,’ whatever the fuck that even means. But eventually.”

Harry frowns. “But you’re hand. You can’t stock heavy shit when your hand is injured.”

“It’ll heal.”

“Yeah, unless it gets infected first.”

“I told you,” Louis says, turning around so he’s sitting on his stomach. He leans his head against his arms. “I think it’s already infected. I’m gonna have Betsy at work look at it. She’s a nursing student.”

Harry goes to grab his wrist to see for himself, but Louis pulls his hand away and tucks it under his chest. “Let me see it,” Harry says, confused. When Louis just shakes his head, Harry nudges him with his foot. “Louis, seriously. If it looks bad, I want to see it. Let me help.”

“Mmm, no. It looks gross.”

“Louis. Stop being difficult.”

“Harry,” Louis echoes, mocking. “Stop being annoying. I’ll have Betsy look at it tonight.”

Harry sighs heavily and leans forward to shove at Louis’ shoulder. “Fine,” he says. “But you better come and cuddle me, ‘cause now you have me in shit mood on my day off.”

Louis rolls his eyes and does as he’s told anyway. He gets them both under the blankets before pulling Harry into his side. He pets at his hair obnoxiously rough for a moment, just to be even more annoying, and Harry grunts softly against Louis’ chest. Louis stops and starts messing with his hair in a way that feels nice. Harry doesn’t mean to fall asleep, and it doesn’t even feel like he did, but the next time he wakes, Louis’ gone and it’s darker outside. 

-

It’s one o’clock in the morning when Louis gets in from work. Harry’s asleep, as he should be considering he works at eight, but Louis gently shakes him awake. Harry, sleepy and confused, lets out a quiet whimper and tucks his face against Louis’ knee, mumbling something that’s supposed to sound like, “What is it?”

“Stupid Betsy said I should go to urgent care, so. That’s what I think I should do. Figured you might want to come with? Addison’s upstairs with Liam.”

Harry wakes up more, then, turning over on his back to see that Addison is gone from the bed. He doesn’t like that he didn’t wake up to that. “Does it really look that bad?” he asks, sitting up. A yawn escapes him as he scratches at his chest. “They’re probably going to give you antibiotics. Those might cost a lot.”

Louis looks guilty. “I know, but it does look bad, H. I probably should’ve gone sooner.”

“Okay, that’s fine.” Harry leans forward to press against the corner of Louis’ lips, too tired to panic. “We’ll figure it out. Just give me five, okay? I have to pee and wake up a bit.”

Louis does, says he’ll be upstairs waiting. 

As soon as Louis pulls back the bandage to show the doctor the cut, Harry winces and stands, grabbing his wrist. “Jesus, Louis. You didn’t tell me it looked _that_ bad.”

The skin around the cut is swollen and red, and the scab that’s formed over the cut has gone yellow and greenish, almost. The doctor gently takes Louis’ wrist from Harry and examines it herself. 

“It’s definitely infected,” she says distractedly, and well. Duh. “Okay. I’ll prescribe you some antibiotics that should be taken orally and we’ll get this flushed out. It should be fine, if you take care of it now.”

Louis eyes her carefully, probably wondering how much that is going to cost them. “We don’t have insurance,” Louis tells her, sounding apologetic. “And we’re, like, shit broke, so if we could, um. Could you just do whatever’s cheapest and that’ll get the job done?”

She looks sympathetic, something Harry greatly appreciates. Even though she’s making bank from being a doctor, she’s not the one who created the system. She didn’t have a say in how much bias towards poor people would be fundamentally implemented in it. 

“Of course,” she says. “I’ll ask around, see who’s offering your antibiotics for the least amount. And the cleansing of your wound is nothing fancy, so it’s not going to cost you too much.”

“Thank you,” Louis says, cheeks gone red. It shouldn’t be embarrassing to be poor. Or maybe it should be, he doesn’t actually know. But they shouldn’t have to feel crap about themselves on top of everything else. 

As soon as she steps outside for a moment, shutting the curtains behind her, Harry thwaps Louis’ arm roughly. “You’re an idiot,” he says, ignoring Louis’ complaints that it hurt. “Do you know how much more money it’d cost if, I don’t know, you needed your fucking hand to be amuptated or something?”

Louis stares at him with a bored look, staying patient until Harry’s finished. “That’s a very weird way to show you care about me,” he says, and no, Harry’s not in a joking mood. Louis’ fine, it’s just an infected cut, but -- just. He needs to take care of himself. He must see that Harry is actually upset because he grabs Harry’s hand and tugs on him. “I’m fine. I’ll continue to be fine. I didn’t let it get too far, did I? No. Just trust me a bit here, okay?”

Harry squeezes his hand, suddenly feeling so small and scared. “I just really hate this, Louis,” he whispers, hunching forward and settling his elbows on his knees. “I hate having to worry all the time. I hate -- I hate, God I don’t even know. I just hate everything.”

Louis squeezes his hand painfully hard, and he’s about to say something before a nurse comes in to clean Louis’ hand. 

It only costs them a little over a hundred and fifty dollars, and Louis doesn’t mention what Harry said, but he does grip Harry’s hand tightly the entire way home. And when they get inside, Louis thwaps him back. 

“What the hell was that for?” Harry asks, rubbing over his arm. It doesn’t hurt, not really, but he wasn’t expecting it. 

Louis looks at him sternly and says, “If you get to hit me for not taking care of myself, then I get to hit you for the same reason.”

“I’m okay,” Harry starts to say, and before he can even finish, Louis shushes him sternly. 

“No,” he says. “Just because my pain is physical, doesn’t mean yours hurts any less.”

Harry looks off to the side, wondering why the hell Louis’ so worried about him all the sudden. He’s fine. Tired as shit and drained and sad, but fine. “Well I don’t see what I can do about that,” he grumbles, kicking off his shoes. He bends down to pick them up and heads downstairs. 

-

It’s a Monday when Tony tries to sleep with him. 

A normal, casual Monday morning. It’s three in the morning, so nobody’s coming into the store all that often. Harry’s leaning against the counter, thinking about what they need for Addison’s next year of school starting in a little over a month, when Tony comes out of his office. Harry gives him a thin, fake smile, and he’s about to tell him that he’s going to mop the front in a few minutes, but he stops when Tony keeps walking closer and closer and then -- oh, fucking shit, that’s Tony’s hand on his junk.

“Jesus, what the -- ” Harry curls away from the touch, shoving Tony’s hand off of him. It’s not -- the touch was gentle, almost. Curious. Completely unwarranted and not okay, but not malicious. So it’s awkward afterwards, when Harry’s staring at him with his crotch directed away from him and Tony’s staring back, looking confused. 

“I thought you were gay,” he says, and he sounds stumped, like he can’t think of any other reason why Harry wouldn’t want to sleep with him. 

“I have a boyfriend,” Harry tells him, feeling awkward for no good reason. He didn’t cause this. “And you didn’t ask me if you could do that, so.”

Tony nods once, and his eyebrows are furrowed, like he seriously has to concentrate on what Harry’s saying to make sense of it. “Oh,” he says after a moment. “Oh. Well, the front has to be mopped. It looks like shit.”

Harry nods. “Yeah. Um. Yeah. I’ll go do that.”

“Yeah, you should.”

“Okay,” Harry mumbles, scooting around Tony and grabbing the mop and the bucket. He’s hesitant to turn his back to him, scared that he’s about to be attacked, but when he does, nothing happens. And he doesn’t really expect it to, either. At the club, Harry learned how to identify who was dangerous, and Tony doesn’t seem dangerous. Completely pervy and creepy, yes, but not dangerous. 

Still, Harry pays far too much attention in making sure he doesn’t point his ass in the direction of the camera as he mops. 

He tells Louis and Liam what happened a few hours later, when they’ve all managed to catch each other at the same time for breakfast. Harry’s getting in from work, Liam’s getting ready for work, and Louis is awake because Addison kicked him in her sleep and woke him up. 

“You know Tony?” he says, grabbing Louis’ coffee cup to take a sip. 

Louis hums, and Liam nods. “Your boss, right?”

“Yeah.”

“What about him?” Louis asks. 

Harry shrugs and takes another sip from the cup. “He grabbed my dick this morning,” he says, doing his best to sound conversational. He’s not -- it’s not like it scared him or something. He’s not traumatized. It’s really not a big deal to him. But he’s scared that it should be and he’s just become numb to the world, so he wants to make sure he’s not screwed up. 

“Oh,” Louis says, and he doesn’t look happy about it, but. He pats Harry’s thigh and says, “Some men are just like that. Women, too. It’s a curse having a cute butt, you know. You’re fine, though, right?”

Harry nods, and Louis pats his thigh again. “Good.”

There’s a weighted pause before Liam blurts out, “That’s _illegal_.”

Harry and Louis stare at him, unsure of how to respond to that. 

“Why are you looking at me like I’m crazy?” Liam asks. “That’s -- he shouldn’t be doing that. You should tell somebody, Harry.”

“It’s okay,” Harry says, and Liam makes an exasperated noise. 

“No, it’s not. Are you kidding me? He sexually assaulted you.”

Harry regrets mentioning it. He stands and kisses the top of Louis’ head and he scoots behind him to get out from behind his chair. “Yeah, maybe. But it wasn’t a big deal. I’m usually at least paid for it, though. Maybe he’ll add something to my check.”

He’s being cruel, joking about this when Liam is so visibly upset. Joking about him stripping when he told Louis not to mention it again. But he’s starting to realize that he doesn’t like Liam getting to have an opinion on what they do. Liam -- bless his heart -- is doing more than okay financially. He’s renting a house in his early twenties. He’s driving a brand new car. He talks to his mom every night before bed. He doesn’t get to have an input on what Harry finds and doesn’t find serious. 

“Haz, I didn’t mean to piss you off,” Liam tells him when Harry starts walking in the direction of the stairs. It’s clear he’s not happy about saying it, that he still believes what he said, but he says it anyway, for Harry’s sake. 

“You didn’t piss me off,” Harry says. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just going to sleep. Have a good day at work, man.”

Liam makes an unhappy noise, and Louis tells him he’ll be down in a minute. As Harry goes down the stairs, purposefully slow, he hears Liam ask, “Your boyfriend says someone else put their hand on his dick and your response is to make jokes? I’m not -- I’m not judging, but, like. Tommo. Aren’t you supposed to take care of him?”

“We take care of ourselves, Liam. I have to trust that he’s doing that. Trust me, I know how to tell if he needs looking after, okay? He’s a tough son of a bitch.”

Harry, settled by that response, finishes walking down the stairs and climbs into bed with their daughter, who’s sleeping soundly. 

-

When Addison is back in school, it’s so much less stressful with Liam around. Harry and Louis _do not_ ask Liam for much, and they discourage Addison from asking much from him either, but when things could be done so much easier if they’d accept the help Liam offers, and it'd directly help their daughter, it’s harder to say no. 

So when Liam offers to take Addison to school and pick her up when he can after he hears Louis and Harry frantically trying to figure out the fuck can pick her up on certain days, they say yes. Hesitantly and reluctantly, they agree. And when a field trip comes around -- _these goddamn fucking field trips_ \-- and it’s forty dollars, she tells Liam about it and he offers to pay. They have forty dollars, and they tell him as much, but he shrugs and tells them it’s fine. So they accept that, too. 

It’s nice, having someone else in your corner. Having someone else look after your kid. 

In October, Louis and Harry start tossing back and forth the idea of finding another apartment. They’ve been at Liam’s for four months now, and even though Liam said they can stay as long as they need, they know that every promise has an expiration date. But when Harry borrows Liam’s laptop to start looking around, and Liam sees _cheap apartments Chigaco_ in the history, he tells them that they don’t have to start looking yet. 

“Wait until the winter’s over, at least,” Liam tells him. “Cheap apartments might have shit insulation.” And he looks so honest, so trustworthy, that Harry lets it go. It settles some of the ever-present anxiety in Harry’s stomach; after winter gives them at least five more months. Six, if he’s considering the fact they’re in Chicago and March is most definitely still winter. 

He feels safe for the first time in a while. And he learns that you don’t really realize how bad you were doing until you start doing good. He’s so much more. . . He feels lighter, almost. Less worried about everything. And Louis notices him brightening up a bit, and it makes him happier, too, and it’s really fucking amazing. It feels really good. And if Harry cuts back his hours a bit, _barely,_ at the laundromat, well. He thinks it’s okay. 

“What’d you learn at school, then?” Harry asks Addison after picking her up from school. Even though it always annoyed him whenever his mom asked him that, it feels right. 

“About trees.”

Harry looks down at her. “What about trees?”

“I don’t know,” she says, shrugging. “Roots and stuff. I don’t know. Where’s Liam’s tablet?”

“Probably in his room, where you’re not supposed to go.” She starts to walk away anyway, and Harry tugs her back gently. “Hey, come on. Play with your toys downstairs or something.”

She slumps against him, wrapping her arms around his leg. “Fine,” she mumbles. “When is Daddy gonna be home?”

“Late. After your bedtime. But he’ll take you to school tomorrow, okay?”

Usually, she’s a champ about this sort of thing. She doesn’t get frustrated with them very often, so when she does, Harry excuses it. It’s justified, he’s pretty sure. “I don’t wanna go to bed by myself,” she tells him, pouting grumpily. Harry works tonight, his shift starts at eight, so he’ll get her ready for bed before leaving. Liam will be home by then, and he said he’d put her to bed if she didn’t listen to Harry; another liberty they didn’t have before staying here. Liam’s an angel, he’s sure of it. 

“You won’t be by yourself, bub. Liam will be here.”

She whines, and he pats at her head and tells her not to start. She doesn’t, thankfully. “Can we at least play outside?” she asks, only stomping her foot a little. “Liam bought me chalk. Said I could draw on the driveway.”

It’s hard knowing that there will come a day where she won’t have that again. Chalk. A driveway to doodle on. Because even though Liam’s is great for right now, it’s not like they’re living here permanently. They will certainly be moving into at the very most an apartment next. But just because she won’t have that later doesn’t mean she shouldn’t indulge in it now. He can’t condition her to get used to unhappiness. 

“Of course,” he tells her. He takes her outside, and once he’s sat on the bench, she sits in his lap and asks him to braid her hair. He does, and since he doesn’t have a hair tie, they’re loose, but she doesn’t mind. Once he’s finished, she hops out of his lap and grabs the chalk box and plops on the ground. 

“What did you want me to draw for you, Daddy?”

He smiles at her. “A tree,” he tells her. “With roots and stuff.”

She nods very seriously, and he watches her draw the tree for him, with roots and all.

-

Tony is. . . a bit of a problem, you could say. Not right now, but he most definitely will become one later. Harry’s been waiting to get fired ever since he rejected Tony, but it hasn’t happened. He was confused for a while, until he realized that Tony was jacking off in his office almost every shift, presumably to the thought of Harry. He’s keeping him around because he likes the idea of him. Of his body, of his sexuality. And that’s going to become a problem, it is, but Harry’s taller and stronger and already on guard. Tony doesn’t have shit on him, except for the fact that he’s his boss. But Harry has no problem losing his job if it’s because he hit him upside the head for touching him inappropriately again. 

So yeah, he’s a looming threat, but not a current one, so Harry tries not to focus on it. And he tells himself it’s okay that he’s continuing to work for a man who is most likely fantasizing about harming him, because it’s better for it to be him than someone’s daughter or son. 

It does get his heart hammering sometimes, like whenever he has to go out of his way to talk to Tony. Like tonight. He spends twenty minutes working up the courage to go and knock on the door of Tony’s office, the door that isn’t all the way shut on purpose so Harry can hear the broken off moan as he comes. Harry waits at the door, not stupid enough to allow Tony to trick him into “accidentally” walking in on him. After about a minute, a scratchy voice tells him to come in. 

Tony’s face is flushed and his fly is undone. “What do you want?”

Harry clears his throat and looks nowhere but Tony’s eyes. “I, um. My shift at my other job ends at six-thirty tomorrow, and I know I start here at seven, but, um. I might be a little late, if that’s. . . I mean, is that okay?”

“Fine,” Tony snaps, giving in much easier than Harry thought he would. “But that means you can’t leave here until this place is spotless, you hear me?”

“Yes. Okay, I will. Thank you.”

He turns to leave, and before he goes, Tony asks him to take the trash out from his office. Harry eyes the only half-filled trash can annoyedly, knowing full well there’s a freshly jizzed on tissue on top of it. There is, Harry can see it, but he decides it’d be best to just do it other than argue. 

Not even ten minutes later after Harry brings the trash can back to the office, he hears Tony getting off again. If he wasn’t so fucking digusted, Harry could maybe find it in him to be impressed. Twice in under twenty minutes is good stamina for someone over twice his age. 

-

Sometimes, usually when Harry and Liam catch each other going to and from work in the morning, they have long, quiet talks about all sorts of things. Usually it turns serious, but that’s okay. Sometimes Harry doesn’t mind talking about his problems. 

Today, though. Today, it snowed for the first time and as he walked up the steps to Liam’s house, he remembered the time his mom took him and Louis to a ski resort for Harry’s birthday. They fucked in the cabin while his mom was out with her friend, and she came back and didn’t have a clue. He thinks about that and it makes him want to cry a little, knowing how perfect his life would be if he just managed to keep that part of him hidden like he did that day, so when Liam asks him about his mom, Harry’s throat immediately gets hot and scratchy with tears. 

“So you and Louis don’t talk to your parents, then? Either of you?” is what Liam asks. And not in a judgemental way, not at all, but Harry still feels awfully defensive about it. 

“No,” he says quietly. “Louis cut himself off from his mom and step-dad, I got cut off from my mom. I haven’t seen my mom in years, same for Louis.”

“He told me what happened to you. With your mom catching you two and shit. That’s terrible, man, I’m sorry.”

Harry shrugs. “It’s okay. I’ve gotten used to it.” He talks a long, burning sip of his coffee and they sit in silence for about two minutes. Then, Harry says, “You know, it’s like. Sometimes Louis tells me that he regrets leaving home. That things would be different if I moved in with his parents instead, if he was still living there. And I just think that sucks, you know? He was -- his step-dad was a prick, but he’d rather deal with that than us being like this.”

Louis doesn’t talk about it often, his step-dad beating him. As far as Harry remembers and from what Louis’s told him, it was never severe. It’s not like Louis was being beaten within an inch of his life, or anything. And Harry hopes that that means Louis wasn’t miserable back then, too. That he had a few good years before things got bad, like Harry did. 

“I can’t imagine not speaking to my mom,” Liam says. “That must be so hard. I’m sorry.”

Harry shrugs, too worked up to say anything. 

Liam sighs. “You two deserve better. All three of you do. You did nothing to deserve this, any of you.”

A strangled sound, half-laugh, half-sob crawls out of Harry’s throat. “According to mom, I have. I just wish -- God, I just wish I wasn’t gay, you know? Like -- like if that one thing about me was different, then I wouldn’t -- ”

“Then you wouldn’t have Louis,” Liam interrupts, and Harry shakes his head. 

“I’d have him. Of course I’d have him. We’d be friends still. I’m pretty sure, no matter what, we’d be friends.”

Liam’s voice is so, so soft when he says, “There’s nothing wrong with being gay, Harry.” And still, it’s enough to cause Harry to flinch, pull back like he’s been hit. He scrubs a hand over his face and shakes his head. 

“That’s a stupid fucking thing to say to me.”

“It’s true,” Liam argues. “Your _mom_ is wrong, not you.”

And that’s not true. It’s not not true, either, it’s just -- no. That’s all he can think, really. No. Because Harry would rather believe that something is fundamentally wrong with him rather than believe that his mom gave him up because of a belief that had no backing to it. He’d rather be damned by God, as his mother believes, rather than damned by her. 

“Either way,” Harry says, faking indifference. “Either way, it doesn’t matter. I’m still here, aren’t I? Still got kicked out. It doesn’t matter who’s right or wrong.”

Liam’s frowning, and he looks like he might try to grab Harry’s hand, so he tucks them in his lap. “If you think you’ve done something wrong because of your sexuality, do you think Louis’ wrong, too, then?”

“Louis’ bi. It’s different.”

Liam laughs. “Is it?” When Harry doesn’t say anything, Liam sighs loudly and leans back in his chair. “If you wouldn’t say something about him, you shouldn’t say it about yourself either. Love yourself like you love him.”

Harry snorts, standing up. He grabs his coffee mug off the table so he can pour the rest of it out, and once he’s done, he says, “You should be one of those people who come up with those Hallmark cards, or something.”

“You think?”

Harry nods. “You’re doing well in business, Liam, but I think being a Hallmark card-maker would really show your skills. Think about it.” He leaves to go to sleep, then, and he hears Liam laugh quietly, muttering, “Fucking Hallmark cards, can you believe it?”

-

“The boss says you’re not working Saturday anymore,” Lydia says. They’re washing off the machines while it’s slow, and she’s halfway across the room from him. There’s not any customers inside, so it’s okay. “That true?”

Harry nods. 

“Why? You always work Saturdays with me.”

Harry lets out a long sigh as he wipes at a stubborn smudge on the washing machine handle. It looks like paint, almost. “Liam wants to take Addison out sledding for Christmas. Louis got work off, and he wanted me to as well. It’s not something I want to miss, so.”

“She’s never been sledding before?”

“I don’t think she’s ever really played in the snow before school,” he tells her honestly. They weren’t going to let their kid go out and play in the snow when she didn’t have any snow pants or boots, were they. Liam’s bought her all that stuff now. Liam buys her a lot of things. Not too much, not enough for it to be insulting or spoiling, but enough for the guilt on Harry’s heart to grow. He’s done absolutely nothing in his life for Liam, and here he is, giving him all this. 

“Oh, well. Have fun.”

“I will.”

They do. Harry feels giddy, almost, getting ready with Louis. They went out and bought themselves thicker jackets and boots at the thrift shop a few days ago, and they have a hat each and two pairs of sweats on. 

“This is so stupid,” Harry whispers, smiling so wide that it hurts as he buttons up his coat. “We’re going sledding, how stupid is that?” 

Louis presses against him, his nose pressing against Harry’s cheek, his smile against Harry’s jaw. “So stupid,” he whispers. He kisses Harry softly on the lips. “So stupid,” he repeats, and then he yanks Harry forward and they walk up the stairs. Liam’s in the kitchen talking to Addison, who’s complaining that she’s too warm. 

“You won’t be saying that in about ten minutes,” Louis teases as he scoops her up and she shrieks and kicks out. Harry watches, feeling so happy that he’s almost breathless with it. 

It’s one of those rare moments where they actually feel like a family. He tries to remember it all; Louis’ blinding smiling, Addison’s giggles, Liam’s strong arms pushing her down the hill. Louis falling down and taking Harry down with them, after which they laugh and laugh and laugh, laughing so hard it takes them a few tries to stand back on their feet. Harry getting a try on the sled and feeling scared the first time, so scared, so he makes Louis go with him the second time and with Louis’ arms firm around him, all the fear is gone and he just feels _free_. So free. 

Whenever he thinks of that moment, that moment that has become his happy place, the place where he goes when he doesn’t want to be where he actually is, that’s the feeling he always remembers: freedom. 

For an hour, just a single hour, the three of them were free. 

-

It’s the end of January when Liam tells them that their time is up. 

Harry’s sitting in the bedroom, coloring one of Addison’s coloring books because he doesn’t have anything else to do and Louis isn’t home from work yet. It’s actually quite relaxing. Harry’s coloring the braid of a princess when he hears the door open, and he smiles quietly to himself, knowing that that means Louis’ home. They’re both home tonight, which is always a good thing. Louis takes a little while to come downstairs to find him, which is fine. He hears him talking to Liam, although he’s not sure about what. They’re probably just talking about Addison, he thinks, who is playing video games on Liam’s TV in his room. 

They’re not talking about Addison, and Harry knows it as soon as he sees Louis’ face when he stands in the doorway. He gives Harry a watery smile, shuts the door, and climbs into bed with him. He sits behind Harry, wrapping him in his arms and pulling him to his chest, and sets his cheek on Harry’s shoulder. Harry pushes away the coloring book and shifts in Louis’ arms so he can see his face. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, frowning at the tears in Louis’ eyes. It’s probably cruel, making Louis say it out loud. Harry knows what’s coming. Nothing else would make Louis upset like this. 

Louis clears his throat and squeezes Harry’s hip. “Liam got a new job,” he says, voice still coming out strained and croaky. He clears his throat again. “It’s, um. It’s in Michigan, apparently. So he doesn’t need this house anymore.”

Harry closes his eyes, betrayal and anger chasing each other around in his heart, trying to figure out which one is hurting worse. Louis lets out a choked laugh. 

“He’s moving next month, but his lease here isn’t up until March, so he said we can live here until then.”

“Jesus, Louis,” Harry whispers, and he’s crying. Of course he’s crying. “Can you imagine that?” he asks, sniffling uselessly. “Having skills that some company in an entirely different state wants you? Having the money and security to drop everything and move? Can you even imagine having that?”

Louis shakes his head and lets out a small whimper against Harry’s shoulder. His nails are digging into Harry’s side a bit, but it’s okay. 

“He says he’s sorry,” Louis says, and his voice cracks. 

Harry doesn’t say anything to that. Not because Liam should be sorry, but because there’s nowhere else for them to go after March. If things were different, if their credit wasn’t shot and they had deeper pockets, it would be okay, they would land on their feet, but neither of those are true for them. No apartment complex would look at the amount they make each year and agree to have them as tenants. Louis got away with it all those years ago because he was young and had a job and was only one person. There’s no possible way to get into another apartment, unless they run into some really nice landlords, which are basically as foreign in this part of Chicago as fucking unicorns are. 

“He offered to help us get a new apartment, to get us on our feet, but Harry. . .” 

“There’s no point,” he whispers, finishing Louis’ sentence. If Liam somehow coughs up enough money to pay the downpayment and the initial rent, which is already unlikely, then it’ll only take a month, maybe two, for them to get kicked out. They don’t make steady enough money to afford rent on top of groceries and gas and basic living expenses. It’s pathetic, really, but it’s true. Even after all these months of saving money on rent, it’s not realistic, because the money they were saving was going to Selene to pay off their debt there, and paying off Louis’ credit card debt, and paying off Harry’s student loans, and Louis’ hand and fucking winter wear so they could go sledding. 

“I’ll talk to Josh at the club tomorrow,” he says quietly. “I can get back in there until we figure it out. And I can quit the gas station, so the hours won’t clash.”

Louis’ nails dig deeper. “I’ll ask my boss to let me go full time at the restaurant. If she doesn’t, I’ll find a different job.”

“Who will pick up Addison from school, then?”

“We’ll figure it out.”

They won’t. 

-

Harry tries not to be a dick to Liam, he really does, but it’s really fucking difficult. Jealousy is a vicious little prick, and so is Harry, apparently, because Harry can’t even look him in the eye anymore. He can’t, because whenever he does, he sees the three of them living out of Louis’ shitty car and wants to punch him in the face. 

Misplaced anger isn’t the worst of Harry’s traits, so he lets it be. 

Harry starts working at the club again, and he starts feeling like shit all the time again, and he and Louis stop having sex again. Louis does manage to weasel his way into getting a full-time position at the restaurant, which is good, if things can be considered good anymore. They continue to save their money and pray that it’ll be enough come March. 

Harry’s been working at the club again for two and a half weeks when Liam figures it out. They didn’t tell him, considering the hours are the same as what he was working at the gas station. There was no point in telling him. 

Harry’s not even sure how he figures it out, but he does one morning when Harry gets in from work and Liam’s just about to leave. 

“You’re stripping again, aren’t you?” Liam asks, sounding in disbelief. Harry gives him a cold stare and doesn’t respond until Liam looks away. 

“Who cares?”

Liam shakes his head at him. “You could get hurt.”

Harry scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “Who cares?” he repeats, harsher this time. 

“Harry,” Liam says, in that little stupid tone of his that he gets when he’s about to go on and on about some shit. Harry moves past him and shakes his head. 

“I don’t want to fucking hear it, Liam. I really don’t.”

“Harry,” Liam repeats, and really, Harry can’t be blamed for exploding. In a quiet way, of course, because his five year old daughter is asleep downstairs and he has an ounce of good parenting left. 

“I have to go to sleep, Liam, because I work again in about five fucking hours, where I’ll wash other people’s laundry for hours until I get off of work. And then you know what else I get to do? I get to go sleep in a park for a few hours before I walk to the club, where I work my fucking _ass_ off until three in the morning. You know sometimes I get so _fucking_ dizzy that I think I’m going pass out? Especially when I’m at the club and have gotten shit sleep, so if you fucking excuse me, I’m going to go try to sleep so I can get through the day tomorrow.” He pauses, chest heaving, before saying, “Or do you have actually something useful to tell me?”

Liam looks like he might cry. “No, I don’t. I’m sorry.”

“Good,” Harry snaps. “Then don’t waste my fucking time.”

To be able to live with himself, he has to shower before bed. He won’t get into bed with Louis with other people’s fingerprints on his body. 

-

If Harry learned one thing from getting used to the life he had at Liam’s, it should have been to avoid having hope. Hope hurts. Hope leads to other painful feelings, like happiness and security and a sense of freedom. But no, apparently he’s fucking dumb, because in the early days of March, he and Louis meet with a landlord about possibly moving into one of his apartments. He looks over their paperwork and says it could work, but they don’t sign anything that day because Bill has yet to draw up the paperwork. But Harry and Louis both have hope that they have figured something out, even if said solution is a small, smelly room in a shitty apartment complex in a bad neighborhood. 

And then Louis’ car gets totaled. The one car they have, the car that they need, gets fucking totaled last minute, a week after they think they’ve figured it out. It was a minor car accident -- minor in the sense that nobody got hurt -- but it’s enough to wipe out the car. 

Harry doesn’t know any of that when he gets home to an empty house hours after Louis was due to get home with Addison. It’s four in the morning, and Louis works no later than one at the restaurant. He’s always home by one. Always. And if he had to leave for reason, there’s no way that he wouldn’t have left Harry a note. 

To say he freaks out is an understatement. He tries to stay calm at first, which lasts about all of three minutes before he’s pacing the living room, gnawing on his fingernails and whispering, “Come on, come on, come on, Louis, come on.” He has two of his nails bleeding and his frantic whispering has escalated to a near constant stream of shouting when there’s a slam outside, the distinct sound of a car door, and Harry flings himself to the door. 

Louis and Addison are getting out of a police car, and Harry stands on the porch, confusion planting him in place. “You got fucking arrested?” he snaps. 

Stress doesn’t start bleeding out of him until Louis looks at him like he’s an insane person and says, “No, what the fuck? He was just giving us a ride.” He turns to the cop and thanks him quietly before grabbing Addison’s hand and guiding her up the steps. As soon as Harry’s brain starts working properly, he scoops Addison up in his arms and presses a hard kiss to her head before pulling Louis towards him as well. 

“Where were you guys?” he gets out in almost a whimper. He strengthens his hold on Louis. “I was losing my mind over here. Is everything okay?”

Louis pulls away from him so he can get in the house, and once he has the door shut behind them, he gives Harry a tired, pointless smile and says, “Well, um. The car’s totaled.”

Harry’s grip on Addison becomes so hard that it probably hurts, so he quickly stops and kisses her forehead as an apology. She presses her face to his neck. “Are you two okay? What happened, was there an accident?”

“Yes. We’re both fine. A car t-boned us, on my side. She’s fine, just a little shaken up. The cop got her an ice cream cone.”

Harry bites back an annoyed remark about them getting ice cream while Harry panicked here by himself, thinking something awful happened. For a little while there he thought Louis had left him. 

“Are you sure you aren’t hurt? How’s your shoulder?”

“I’m fine,” Louis says, looking like he’s telling the truth. He comes closer so he can grab Addy off of him, and she goes willingly, clinging onto Louis. “Shower while I get her to bed, okay? You smell like a bar.” He squeezes Harry’s bicep, probably trying to communicate that he doesn’t mean anything cruel by that. He drops his voice to say, “And then we can figure out what the fuck we’re going to do about the car.”

-

It’s the night before Liam is coming back to Chicago to give the keys back to the owner when Harry and Louis officially make the decision that they’ll put themselves up in the cheapest motel they can find until they find an alternative to living out of their car. The car is newer than Louis’ last one, but it’s still a piece of shit. They bought it for a few grand they scraped together after they decided that it’d be a better investment to buy a car than get that apartment they almost signed on to. With the apartment, it was likely they wouldn’t be able to keep up on rent after a while and they’d lose it, and if they lost it, then they wouldn’t even have a car to call home.

They have a list of what-to-do-next plans. They’re going to ask Zayn if they can crash with him for a little while, but considering he lives in a studio apartment with his girlfriend and a dog, he’ll say no. Plan #2 is to see if anybody at the club -- not anybody, not the fucking weirdos, but anybody that Harry trusts with his daughter -- is open to having a few new roommates for a bit. They’ll all say no, probably. Plan #3 is seeing if there’s any rooms for rent nearby; they’re hoping a homeowner will be more understanding if they can only promise a few month’s rent before they get kicked out. Plan #4, which is written in Louis’ handwriting because Harry wants absolutely no part of it, is asking Harry’s mom to let them stay with her for a bit. And if not them, at the very least Addison could stay with her while Louis and Harry figure things out. Harry’s been working like crazy at the club, and if he keeps it up and manages to avoid dropping dead from sheer exhaustion, they should be good to go on an apartment in a few months. 

Harry will not even think about option number four, so one of the others will have to work out. Harry cannot give up their child to his fucking _mother_. He _will not_. And no, Louis’ not necessarily wrong when he says that it’s the safest option, that they have to start thinking about Addison’s quality of life and the only reason why he’s not offering up his own mother’s house is because Louis’ step-dad still lives there and he doesn’t want to put her in harm’s way. But it’s downright insulting to suggest that after everything she’s caused -- she _put them through this,_ all of this. If she hadn’t kicked Harry out, things would look so, so different. 

Harry hasn’t talked to Louis aside from the bare necessities in the past week since they made that stupid fucking list. And it’s not exactly a hard thing to do, considering they’ve barely seen each other all week since they’re both working so much. 

Tonight, though, their last night here, is spent sitting on the couch with Addison downstairs, not talking to or looking at each other but existing together. Louis tries a few times to say something, but Harry either shakes him off or ignores him completely. 

“You don’t have to be so mean to me,” Louis whispers after about an hour of silence. 

Harry scoffs, looking down at the hole he’s picking open further on the knee of his sweats. “Where the fuck has nice ever gotten me, Louis?”

“Nowhere, I know that. But that doesn’t mean you have to be mean to _me._ I thought we were in this together.”

Harry can’t hold back his anger at that. “You want me to go crawling by to my _mother_ ,” Harry seethes, standing up. “She took _everything_ from me and condemned my entire existence, and you want me to ask her to _take our child_. There is no _‘together’_ in that, is there, Louis?”

“Well I can’t fucking ask her, can I?” Louis snaps back. “She’d have no problem saying no to me, the boy who corrupted her perfect fucking son. And I’m not asking her to take Addy, I’m asking her to take _all of us,_ which she isn’t going to do, I know that, but we have to at least try. And this isn’t about me or you, Harry, it’s about her. It’s about our fucking _daughter._ So don’t act like I like this anymore than you do.”

“Fuck you,” Harry spits, for no other reason but he doesn’t have a logical argument for any of that. “I lost everything for you.”

“No, you didn’t. You lost everything _because_ of me. There’s a difference. Don’t pretend like you had any say in what happened.”

“Fuck you,” Harry repeats, for the same reason as the last time. He hasn’t got anything to say, but he’s angry and he needs to get it out. “You don’t -- there’s no way you could love me, asking me to do a thing like that. There’s just no fucking way.”

He doesn’t know what he’s saying, but he does know that he doesn’t regret any of it. It’s not true, it’s not, but it feels right. 

Louis looks him straight in the eye as he stands up slowly. He raises his finger, points it at Harry, and with more venom and weight than Harry could manage when he said it, Louis says, “ _Fuck you_.” He looks disgusted when he turns away, and Harry stands there, feeling breathless and terrified, as he hears Louis walk down the steps, away from him. 

-

Awkward doesn’t cover the intense uncomfortableness between Harry, Louis and Liam the following morning. Louis and Harry haven’t spoken a word to each other since their fight, not even to say their regular ‘I love you’ before bed and when they wake up. Louis won’t even look at him, which -- Harry deserves it, probably. And even if he didn’t, he was angry, too. He still is. But he wants to be the only one angry, he doesn’t want Louis being mad at him. Which isn’t fair or right, and quite childish, honestly. And now an already awkward situation is made about a million times more awkward because Liam catches onto the fact they aren’t talking almost immediately. It’d be a hard thing to miss. 

“Do you need help with packing?” Liam asks, and Harry shakes his head. 

“We finished packing the car yesterday,” he tells him. “We’re good to go. Louis’ just downstairs making sure we haven’t forgotten anything.”

Liam looks uneasy. “You two aren’t talking. Is everything okay?”

Harry scoffs as he leans over to grab the car keys off the kitchen table. He can wait for Louis and Addison in the car. “Everything’s just fucking peachy, Liam.” 

It’s so wrong. He should be thanking Liam for giving them so many months of security and home. He should be saying that he really appreciates it and there’s no hard feelings. Because just because they can’t move on in their life, that doesn’t mean Liam has to stay put, too. But Harry’s pissed off and just a prick lately, so he leaves the house without saying anything else and sits in the car. 

He sits on the passenger’s side, since that’s what he’s used to, but he doesn’t like it. It feels like he’s giving Louis the upper hand, somehow, like Louis’ going to take it as a sign of submission or an apology. It’s such a dumb thing to think; he knows Louis not a mean person, and he always sits here. There’s no reason to think of him so negatively, even if they are in the middle of a fight right now. 

Harry’s tired. He’s pretty sure that’s why he’s being such an asshole. And it’s not a good enough excuse, but it’s the only one he has. 

It takes about a half hour for Louis to come to the car with the last bag in one hand and Addison’s hand in the other. His jaw is clenched tightly, but not out of anger. Harry knows how to read him by now; he’s trying not to cry. As Louis helps Addison get in the car and puts the bag in the trunk, Harry tries to work up the courage to say something, to grab Louis’ hand and tell him it’s okay like Louis’ done for him thousands of times before. When Louis sits in the driver’s seat, he takes a deep breath before starting the engine, and Harry knows it’d be a perfect time to comfort him. All it would take is a gentle touch, a squeeze on his elbow or a hand on his knee, but Harry can’t convince himself to risk rejection so he sits still, his body directed away from Louis. 

When they get to the motel, there’s no need for any awkward small talk between them. Louis booked them this motel yesterday, and they paid for a week to start off. It’s sixty-five dollars a night here, so that’s four hundred and fifty-five dollars per week. It’s not sustainable for them at all, but maybe by the end of the week they’ll have somewhere else to go. Somewhere else that isn’t his mother’s house. 

The room isn’t bad. There’s one bed, a couch and a coffee table. They’ll make it work; it’s not like they have any other choice, anyway. It wouldn’t matter if they liked it or not. Harry sits on the bed with Addison, and he figures they’ll unpack later, but Louis’ already leaving the room, telling Addison specifically that he’ll get her things out of the car. 

The second time Louis leaves to go back out to the car, Addison leans against Harry’s arm and looks up at him with wide eyes. “Is Daddy mad?”

“No,” he replies immediately. “No, Adds, everything’s fine.”

“He told Liam that you were being mean,” she says quietly, like she knows she shouldn’t be telling him that. “He used a bad word.”

Harry looks down at her, sadness tearing through his heart. “Yeah? What’d he say?” He brushes his fingers through her hair and smiles. “You can say it just this one time.”

She hides her face against his rib cage before she says, “He said you were being bitchy.” Her little hand grabs for his, and he squeezes her fingers. “What does that mean?”

“Just means I’m being silly, love, that’s all. But don’t say it again, okay?”

She nods against him.

“Promise?”

She nods again. “Promise, Daddy.”

Harry pats her head before stretching across the bed to grab the remote off the side table. He clicks through the channels, trying to find something she can watch. When Louis comes to the room, dropping off more bags, Harry’s chest tightens with anxiety, and he forces himself to stay very still and avoid any eye contact. 

“Do you need help, Daddy?” Addison asks, looking hopeful. Louis shakes his head and tells her there’s only two more bags he has to grab and that he can do it himself. 

“But thank you, munchkin,” he says, and Harry’s chest tightens again, this time out of his guilt. He put a giant fucking wedge between them when they need each other the most, and he doesn’t have the balls to fix it. 

When Louis comes back into the room for a final time, shutting the door behind him, Harry feels trapped. It doesn’t get any better when Louis sits on the couch, far away but still too close. Thank God Harry works tonight, because he’s not sure how they’re going to manage being stuck in a room together when they’re so angry at each other. Harry says he’s going to shower, hoping that’ll create enough distance between the two of them so he can manage to catch his breath. 

-

It’s never been like this between them before. They’ve fought before, of course they have, but they always fought knowing they were still on each other’s side. It’s different now, with Harry feeling betrayed by Louis and Louis feeling betrayed by Harry. It was a stupid thing to say that Louis didn’t love him, because of course Harry knows that he does. Of course he does. He wishes Louis could stop pretending like he actually thinks Harry meant it, because it’s about the most outrageous thing he’s ever said. Louis’ said plenty of things to Harry in anger that Harry brushed off, and now Louis can’t do the same for him. And Harry still feels like he’s the only one who gets to be mad here. 

The way they sleep on opposite sides now, Addison between them as a barrier, makes Harry’s skin crawl. He feels exposed without Louis behind him. The way they haven’t spoken more than a handful of words to each other in eight whole days hurts his stomach, because Louis’ the person who keeps him sane in everything, and losing those few minutes of intimacy every day feels like losing a limb. Two days ago, on the sixth morning of them not speaking to each other, Harry came home from the club feeling so lost, and he didn’t have anyone to help him be found. He just sat there on the couch, feeling dazed and replaying the night in his head over and over again, remembering every stranger’s smirk and whistle and lust-filled eyes. And Louis was awake, Harry could tell by the way he was so still, and he didn’t ask if he was okay and Harry didn’t tell him he wasn’t. 

As predicted, Zayn said no to taking them in. Nobody at the club aside from Howard, a middle-aged man who is rumored to be on the sex offender’s list, said they could crash with him. For as second, a tiny second, Harry considered it, and then one of the other boys joked that Howard would rape him in his sleep and Howard laughed far too loudly for it to be appropriate, so Harry said nevermind. Now their only hope is that Louis, who’s been using the library’s computers after work, can find them a room to rent in a house somewhere. 

Gradually, Harry’s coming to terms with the fact that he’ll be seeing his mother very soon.

On the tenth day of them ignoring each other and the ninth of them being at the motel, they’re getting ready for work together in the bathroom. Harry nearly drops his toothbrush when Louis looks at him in the mirror. 

“Your cough sounds bad,” is what he says, and it takes Harry by surprise. That’s not what he was expecting. After barely speaking to each other, the first thing he says is about Harry’s little cold he’s been fighting with for the last few days. 

Harry looks down at the sink. “It’s just a cold.”

“Yeah, well.” Louis messes with his hair one last time before turning away from the mirror. “I was just saying. It sounds bad.”

“Okay,” Harry says, a little awkwardly. He doesn’t know what to say. And then Louis’ walking out of the bathroom and telling Addison to say goodbye to her dad because they’re leaving. Addison comes running in, telling him goodbye all cheerfully, and Harry kisses the top of her head and tells her to have a good night. 

After he finishes brushing his teeth, he spits in the sink and washes out his mouth. He coughs again, and for a moment he realizes that maybe Louis’ right, maybe it does sound a little more rough than normal. He brushes it off; he feels mostly fine, aside from the cough, and it wouldn’t really matter if he didn’t. 

-

Two days later, Harry feels a little worse. He had to take a little break during the walk from the train stop to the motel because he felt winded. When he pushes open the door to their room, it takes all of two seconds for Louis to stand up and snap, “What the hell took you so long?”

Harry stares at him, confused. Not only is he talking to him, but he’s berating him for being late by maybe ten minutes. “What?” he says, trying to figure out why Louis might be mad. Louis takes a deep breath and shakes his head. 

“Nothing. I’m sorry. But look,” he comes closer and hands Harry a note. “It’s from Addison’s teacher.” As Harry unfolds the notes, he looks to Addison, who looks extremely guilty. He’s thinking that maybe she got in a fight at school, or that she didn’t do her homework. But it can’t be that easy, can it?

_To the guardians of Addison Styles,_

_I understand that you don’t have a phone number to reach you, so I thought this would be the best course of action. It is critical that we meet soon as Addison has been telling me some worrying things that need urgent attention. I would like to meet with you both before I consider taking further action._

_Best,_

_Miss Tammy_

“What the fuck did she say?” Harry asks frantically. And then he turns to Addison, who’s pulling on her shirt anxiously. “What did you say, baby? What did -- what did you tell her?” He’s trying not to sound so desperate, but _further action_ keeps ringing in his head. That means CPS, it can’t mean anything else. And if CPS gets involved. . . 

“Nothing, Daddy,” Addison says, tears in her eyes. “I didn’t say nothing.”

“She mentioned that we keep moving around,” Louis tells Harry, and Addison’s lip forms into a pout. “She was complaining about it. About the motel. And what the fuck kind of teacher is going to hear that their student is staying at a motel with her two dads and not call -- ”

“Shut up,” Harry says. He can’t hear him say that. “Just -- I can blow off work tonight, I can -- we should go back up to the school now, do you think she’d still be there?”

Louis nods. “That’s why I was waiting for you. Come on, Addison. Get your coat.” She does, sniffling quietly, and Harry hushes her as he comes closer. She can’t be crying when they get there, for fuck’s sake. “Baby,” he whispers, rubbing her shoulders. “You’re fine. There’s no need to cry, you aren’t in any trouble. But we have to go talk to your teacher, okay? Not about you, but about us. And you can’t -- no tears, baby. And if she asks you any questions, don’t lie, okay, but maybe don’t say anything that’s not great. Happy things, okay?”

She nods and wipes at her nose. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“Don’t be, love. It’s okay.”

It’s really not, but Harry picks her up and sits her on his hip and keeps telling her it is anyway. 

When they walk through the school doors, Louis’ hand darts out to take Harry’s. He thinks maybe he’s doing it for looks, to make them look like a happy couple, but when Louis keeps squeezing him, he realizes that he’s probably just as nervous as Harry is and needs the comfort. 

“We’ll be okay,” Harry whispers, to Addison and Louis. They have to be. Harry can’t keep living this life if he doesn’t have his family with him. 

Addison directs them to the classroom, and it makes him oddly proud, for some reason. But when she points to a room down the hall and says that’s the room, Harry’s heart leaps in his chest and he lets out a shaky breath. They get closer and closer, and Harry’s eyes start to burn more and more and his heart races faster and faster. How are they going to convince Miss Tammy to leave it be? How are they going to prove to her that they are trustworthy and good parents?

Harry feels light headed as he turns into the classroom. Kind of like how he did earlier when he had to stop during his walk, but for an entirely different reason. A kind looking woman smiles at them as they enter, and all Harry can do is pray that she won’t be the reason they lose their child. 

“Go play in the back, baby, okay?” Louis whispers to her. He takes her out of Harry’s arms and sets her on the ground, and her hand shoots out to grab a hold of Louis, not wanting to let him go. “Just for a few minutes, okay? Draw me something.” He presses a kiss to her cheek and stands, and she slowly walks to the back, keeping her eyes on them the entire way. 

Harry and Louis turn to look at Miss Tammy. She motions for them to sit, and as they come closer, she holds her hand out to shake. They do, and Harry hopes that she can feel the way his hand is shaking. Or maybe he doesn’t, maybe that makes him look guilty. 

“I’m Miss Tammy,” she says. “But you can call me Tamera. I’m assuming you’re the guardians of Addison?”

Louis and Harry sit down in the chairs in front of her and ignore how ridiculous they feel sitting in seats short enough for children. “We’re her parents, yeah,” Louis says. Harry wonders if he’s annoyed with how she keeps saying ‘guardians’ like he is. 

“I’m Harry,” he says, and his voice is shaking. It’s _trembling;_ there’s no way he can get through this. “And this, um. This is Louis.”

“I’m assuming you got my note?”

They both nod. It feels inappropriate to hold hands in front of her, so Harry settles for pressing his leg against Louis’. 

“Addison seems frustrated by the three of you moving around a lot,” Tamera says. “Can you tell me more about that?”

“She’s only lived in three places her entire life,” Louis tells her, and he only sounds a bit defensive. Harry supposes it’s justified. “We lived in the same apartment for the majority of her life.”

Tamera nods once. “She says you’re living in a motel now.”

“Temporarily,” Louis says. “It’s only a temporary thing, I swear to you. We haven't even been there for two weeks yet.”

“Where are you going next?”

And Louis can’t answer that, can he? They don’t know. They don’t have a plan yet. But they can’t just tell her that, can they? Louis opens and closes his mouth a few times, and she frowns. 

“My mom’s,” Harry says quickly. Louis and Tamera both look at him, and Harry digs his thumb nail into the side of his pointer finger. “We’re going to move in with my mom soon.”

“Oh, that’s nice. How soon?”

Harry wants to throw up. “The end of this month, probably.” He has to cough, it’s trying to claw its way up and out of him, but he keeps swallowing and hopes it keeps it at bay. He doesn’t want to show her anything that might raise some kind of question. Having a cold as a parent doesn’t make you a criminal, and he’s being ridiculous, but he can’t help it. 

“Does she have a phone number that I can reach her on?”

“I don’t know it off the top of my head, I’m sorry,” Harry lies. He digs his nail into his skin harder. “I can write it down and send it with Addison to school on Monday, is that okay?” Thank God it’s a Friday. That gives them at least some time to figure this out. 

“Sure, that’s okay.” There’s a small pause before she clears her throat and says, “You know, in these sort of cases, I normally resort to reaching out to outside sources.”

Louis pushes his knee against Harry’s. “Why? I don’t -- she said that she’s upset we’re moving, and I understand that and we’ll talk to her about it, we will, but why does -- that doesn’t make us bad parents, does it?”

“CPS isn’t only for bad parents,” she says, and a small, quiet gasp escapes Harry as he turns his head to the side. That’s the first time that word has been spoken to them. “It’s for parents in need of help, of extra guidance. And Addison mentioned that you two work a lot as well. She said she doesn’t get to see you some days.”

God, Harry wishes Addison would have just kept her fucking mouth shut. What the fuck. 

“I do work a lot,” Harry admits. “I have two jobs, but Louis only works one. I see her almost every day and when I can’t, I make sure to spend extra time with her the next day. And she spends loads of time with Louis.”

Tamera gives them a gentle smile. “You two seem a little worked up. We’re just talking about what’s in the best interest of your daughter. I understand you’re protective of her, but I want you to know that I’m only doing my job.”

“Your job is to call CPS on parents who work and move?” Louis asks, and now he sounds really defensive. Too defensive. Harry tries to smooth it over.

“Your note made it seem like something was really wrong, is all,” Harry says quietly. “We thought she got hurt, or something. And we’re not trying to be rude, we’re just trying to understand.”

“I understand that,” she says. “And I haven’t decided if I’m going to contact CPS or not, Louis. Don’t feel like I’m threatening you, because I’m not. I just want to have an open and healthy dialogue.”

“Please don’t,” Harry pleads, shifting in his seat. “Please don’t put us through that. You can call my mom, you can -- I can give you our phone numbers at our work, and you can call us there if necessary. Talk to Addison every day and ask her if everything’s okay, and if she tells you it’s not, then do what you need to do, okay, but please just give us a chance.”

“We both adore Addison,” Louis continues for him. “We love her so much, and I _promise_ you, _I promise you_ , it’s in her best interest to stay with us.”

“And we’ll talk to her about moving,” Harry says. “We’ll try to make her feel better about it.”

Tamera’s quiet for a minute, probably trying to work things out in her head. “Addison seems like a really happy kid,” she says, and Louis’ hand reaches for Harry’s. Harry tangles their fingers together. 

“She is,” Harry says. 

“And you both seem to really love her.”

“We do,” they say at the same time. Louis squeezes his hand. 

“Well then.” She leans back into her chair and smiles again. “I don’t see why we would need to get anyone else involved. If anything changes, however, I will not hesitate to contact someone who can help. I expect that this dialogue remains open between the three of us from here on out, okay?”

Harry doesn’t know what the fuck that means, but, “Yes. Of course.”

“Okay,” she says. “You can leave now. It was nice speaking to the both of you.”

“You, too,” Louis says. He reaches forward to shake her hand again, and as he does, Harry turns to see Addison looking at them. He gives her a soft smile, hoping that it tells her that everything’s okay, and she stands slowly. He motions for her to come over and she does, and Harry takes her hand in his, resisting the urge to squeeze too hard. 

The walk to the car is tense, and Harry and Louis don’t relax until they get in the car. As much as they can relax, anyway. Harry takes a deep breath and glances at Louis, who’s already looking at him. He leans forward to press a gentle kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth, and Harry cups the back of his neck, keeping him close. 

“I love you,” he whispers, because they haven’t said that to each other in far too long. Louis kisses Harry on the lips properly before telling him that he loves him, too. 

They’re silent for the rest of the way back to the motel. When they get in, Harry starts getting ready for work, and Louis frowns. 

“I thought you were going to blow off work tonight,” Louis says quietly. 

“Meeting took less time than I expected it to. There’s no point in skipping out.”

Louis sighs. “H, come on.”

“It’s a Friday night,” Harry argues, grabbing his bag off the floor. “Do you know how much I make on a Friday night? I’m not giving that up.” Another harsh cough rips through him, and he takes a sip of water out of Louis’ cup on the nightstand. He goes back to digging through his bag, trying to find one of his club shirts. “Talk to Addison tonight about everything.”

“What about your mom?”

“What the fuck about my mom?” Harry snaps, glaring at him. The anger fizzles out quickly and he shakes his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know, okay?”

“We have to talk to her.”

“I know that, don’t you think I know that?” God, he’s never been this mad at Louis before. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. He glares at the ceiling for a second before softening his look and looking at Louis. “I’ll figure it out. _We’ll_ figure it out. I can. . . I can call in sick from the dry cleaner’s tomorrow and we can go to her house.”

“Yeah? Unannounced like that?”

Harry shrugs. “It’ll be harder to say no to us if she sees Addison.” He glances at their daughter, who’s sitting on the couch with a stuffed animal in her hand, looking sad. His stomach churns. “Just -- I don’t know.”

“It makes sense,” Louis says, probably trying to make Harry feel better about it, even though that’s not possible. 

“I’m gonna go shower,” Harry says, sighing loudly. It’ll be good for him, working tonight. It’ll take his mind off things. He grabs his clothes and walks towards the bathroom, kissing the top of Addison’s head as he goes. He lingers at the door for a second, wondering if it’d be wrong to invite Louis with. If Louis’ still mad at him. . . Harry can’t take being rejected. And they should probably talk about the tension between them this last week before they jump straight back into sex, but it’s -- he doesn’t want to leave Louis thinking he’s still mad, and clearly he can’t talk without being bitchy. There are other ways to show him that he’s not angry. So he sighs quietly and stares at Louis, waiting for him to catch his eye. Once he does, Harry nods towards the direction of the bathroom and shrugs. 

“Yeah?” Louis asks, looking hopeful and sad all at once. 

Harry shrugs again. “Yeah.”

He almost doesn’t expect Louis to come join him. It’s been a least a few minutes since Harry started the shower, and he hasn’t come in yet. He tries not to be upset about it, tells himself that it was a bad idea anyway, but clearly he doesn’t believe that at all, because as soon as the door opens and closes, Harry’s stomach explodes with butterflies and he smiles softly. 

“I put Addison to sleep,” Louis tells him as he takes off his clothes. “I didn’t want to leave her upset.” As soon as he’s undressed, Harry reaches out for him with a wet hand, and Louis takes it and steps into the shower with him. Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s neck, pulling him closer. “Don’t you ever say I don’t love you, you hear me?” he says, looking Harry dead in the eyes, making him squirm. He swallows and sets his hands on Louis’ hips. 

“Okay, you’re right,” he whispers. “But don’t ever believe me if I say it again.”

-

Despite him and Louis seeing eye to eye again, Harry’s still in a shit mood when he gets to work. He doesn’t let it get in the way of his responsibilities -- in the way of his tips, he means -- but he’s still upset and dreading tomorrow. How is he going to face his mother after all these years? How is he going to look her in the eye and ask her to do him a favor barely twelve hours after he finished shaking his ass at a gay strib club? He hasn’t got a clue, and it’s beyond stressing him out, so when he gets a break, he’s more than relieved. 

He’s talking to the bartender while sipping on a Jack and Coke when a customer slides into the seat beside his. It’s a bit irritating, considering there are other empty stools not directly next to him, but he doesn’t let his annoyance show. There’s no point; it’s probably some dude trying to catch an extra look at Harry. Which. . . Harry’s never found himself insanely attractive, but after working here, he’s pretty sure every man would want to fuck him, given the right drinks and music. 

He’s halfway through a sentence when the stranger clears his throat and says, “So, you like working here?” 

Harry’s smile falls a bit as he gives the guy a look. “Yeah, it’s nice.” He turns back to the bartender, Taylor, and continues telling him about this time in high school when Louis got so black out drunk that he puked on the host’s dog. Again, he’s about halfway through his sentence when the man says, “What’s your name? I’m Greg.”

Harry gives him a dry smile, trying to keep the peace while simultaneously getting the message across that he’s not interested. “I’m not working right now, sorry.”

Greg looks him up and down. “It looks like you’re working to me.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“How much for a blowie?”

Harry scoffs in disgust. “We don’t do that here.”

“You could start,” Greg says, smirking. “Seriously, man, how much?”

Harry ignores him and turns back to Taylor. “I’m going to go sit in the back room for a bit, I’ll catch you later, yeah?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Taylor tells him. So Harry stands and heads for the back, and he makes it two steps before Greg is circling his fingers around his wrist and pulling him back. Harry yanks his hand away and turns to Greg. 

“ _I’m not working,_ ” he says, punctuating every word. “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be working again, okay? Just chill out.”

But Greg doesn’t let up, because of course he doesn’t. Of course Harry can’t have an easy night tonight. “You should take me to the back with you. Show me around.”

Harry shakes his head. “Yeah, I’m not doing that,” he says, and he turns around again to start walking. He’s not on edge, he doesn’t think Greg is anything more than an annoying, horny prick who can’t quite conceptualize that not everybody wants his dick, but Greg grabs his wrist again, yanking him back this time. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Harry snaps, prying his hand away. Maybe on a different night, Harry would sweet talk his way out of this, but it’s not a different night. It’s the night of the day that he was threatened with CPS. It’s the night before he has to crawl back home to his mom. Harry’s not in the mood to coddle boys with a big ego. “I _said,_ I’m not working, so don’t fucking touch me.”

Greg narrows his eyes. “Watch your mouth, slut.”

“You don’t have to be such an asshole,” Harry snaps, jutting a finger out at him. “You can wait twenty minutes to get my attention, and if you can’t, then leave.”

He’s being short. He’s pushing buttons. He knows that. But he doesn’t think either of those things warrant Greg, a man who’s got half a foot on him and looks like he works out too many times a week, to punch him in the face so hard that it puts Harry on the ground. He swears he blacks out, or maybe just becomes too disoriented to process the next few seconds, because one second Greg’s pulling his arm back and the next Harry’s on the ground, hand pressed to his eye and coughing. That sort of shit doesn’t fly here, so he feels at least protected in that. Taylor comes around the bar to shout at Greg, who’s already being escorted out by a bouncer, and two random men that put hundred dollar bills in Harry’s underwear about twenty minutes ago come and help him off the ground. 

“Let me see, kid,” one of them says, while the other pulls his hand off his eye and cringes, says, “Ooh, yeah, that’s a shiner.” 

It hurts, and his head is already pounding and there’s some blood on his hand, and he’s going to cry. He’s positively, one-hundred percent going to cry, so he’s glad when Josh appears out of nowhere to steer him to the back, rubbing his shoulders and telling him that he’ll be fine. He guides Harry to the bathroom, where there is too much glitter and neon thongs thrown about, and sits him down on the toilet. 

“You weren’t being mouthy, were you?” Josh asks as he digs around in the cabinet under the sink, probably looking for a first-aid kit. 

Harry sniffles pathetically. “No, he says. And then, “Maybe a little, I don’t -- I just told him I wasn’t working right now. I don’t -- Josh, it _hurts_.” He reaches up to touch his eye, and Josh pulls his wrist away, tells him not to touch. Harry listens, so he hits there sniffling and trying not to cry. He feels so childish, suddenly. So vulnerable and aching for a little bit of affection. 

Josh tilts his head up by his chin as he cleans the area around his eye, and Harry watches him, sniffling and clenching his fists in his lap. 

“You can’t work until this heals,” Josh tells him. Harry makes a sad noise.“Sorry, kid. We can’t have our people walking around with black eyes. Not a good look.” 

“I need the money.”

Josh shrugs, but not unsympathetically. “I can give you an advance on your check, but besides that, there’s not much I can do for you.”

Harry closes his eye -- the one that isn’t already mostly shut from the swelling, fucking _Greg_ \-- and bites down on his lip. He’s screwed. He’s so screwed, really. 

“Some of the boys told me earlier that you were a little down tonight,” Josh says, dabbing a piece of wet tissue on his cheekbone. “Want to talk about it?”

“I’m just so done, Josh.”

“With what?”

Harry shrugs. “Everything.” He lets out a soft sigh and squeezes his own thigh, trying to calm himself down. “Wish I could just speed up my life, you know? Like. Fast forward it.”

“Yeah?” Josh asks. “How far ahead would you go?”

“A time where I’m not working so much. A time where me and Louis are happy.” He laughs, even though he’s awfully close to crying. “That’d probably mean we were dead, though.”

Josh makes an unhappy sound at that. “That’s dark.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re still young,” Josh says, like that means anything.

“That just means there are so many more years left that I have to be miserable for.”

Josh squeezes his shoulder. “Jesus, Harry, lighten up.” He lets go of Harry’s chin and backs up. Harry opens his eye, and after Josh gives him a hard look and nods, he tells him that he’s all set. Harry stands up and looks in the mirror, and oh, _God_ , it looks _terrible_. It’s already swollen and bruising, and Harry lets out a small whimper. 

“I have to see my mom tomorrow,” he says, voice small and shaking. Josh frowns at him in the mirror. 

“Is that a bad thing?”

Harry nods and wipes at his nose, which hurts, somehow. “I haven’t seen her since I was eighteen. She kicked me out for being gay.” He turns to Josh and lets out another small cry. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do, Josh. I don’t -- I don’t know anymore. I don’t know.”

“Harry,” Josh says sadly. “You’ll figure it out. It’ll be fine.” 

It’s so obvious that he doesn’t actually care about Harry, that the only reason why he’s sitting here dealing with the tears is because he’s a human being who cares about other human beings in general, not Harry specifically. He’s trying to say whatever will get Harry to hush, probably because he’s making him uncomfortable, and rightly so. Josh is his boss; Harry should at least _try_ to be a little more professional. 

“I’m going to go home,” he says. It’s only eleven o’clock, which means he’ll get a good night’s sleep tonight, if he can manage to fall asleep. “Can someone walk me to the train stop? In case Greg is sticking around?”

“Yeah, of course. Ask one of the bouncers outside, they’ll take care of you.”

Josh leaves, then, and Harry gets changed and grabs his stuff before making his way out of the club. The throbbing around his eye doesn’t feel like it could get any worse, up until he walks outside and the cold air hits him and it stings even more. He hisses quietly, takes a steadying breath, and then asks the nicest looking bouncer if they could help him out. They do easily, and they don’t bother with small talk as they walk Harry to the train stop. It’s not awkward, somehow. Harry appreciates it. 

The train ride is long. Too long. It leaves him too much time alone with his thoughts, and that’s about the worst thing possible right now. He’s going to be on his mom’s doorstep in less than twenty-four hours with his almost six-year-old daughter, a black eye and the man who he was caught kissing. There’s not a single way that’s going to go over smoothly. The only thing Harry can wish for is that she takes Addison in with or without them, and without calling CPS on them. 

He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or not when he gets back to the motel and sees light leaking out under the door. Does he want to face Louis right now? He’s not sure. He’s just happy they’re on better terms now so it’s less awkward when Harry inevitably cries in his lap. 

Louis curses when he sees Harry. “Fuck,” he hisses, standing up from the couch. It looks like he was playing dolls with Addison, who’s staring at him with wide eyes when she should be asleep. “Who the fuck hit you?” Louis asks, grabbing his chin and moving his face so he can get a better look at his eye. “Jesus, Harry. Are you okay?”

Harry doesn’t say anything. Can’t, more like. He just wraps his arms around Louis’ waist and sinks into him, sets his forehead on Louis’ shoulder and heaves. A loud cough rips through him, and Louis squeezes the back of his neck. 

“You weren’t mugged, were you?”

“No,” Harry whispers shakily. Louis smells so nice, like shampoo and sweat and him. “Happened at work.”

“Why? Nobody tried anything, did they?”

“No,” Harry repeats. “Just some guy, being a dick. . . Hurts, Lou.”

“No shit,” Louis says, pulling away from him. He swipes a stray hair off of Harry's forehead and kisses his jaw. “I’ll go find you some ice, okay? Did you clean it?”

“Yeah, it’s cleaned.”

“Good.”

And then Louis’ gone, and it’s just Harry and their daughter, who’s staring at him like he’s a horror film. He forces himself to swallow and handle this like a responsible father who isn’t going to try and pitch her off to someone else tomorrow. 

“I’m okay, babe,” he says, voice only coming out a little shaky. He sits on the edge of the bed and beckons her to sit next to him. She does hesitantly, and he squeezes her cheek gently. “Just a bit of a -- of a scratch, is all.” It’s the only thing he can come up with. She’s told old for boo-boos, but too young for black eyes. 

“Does it hurt?” she asks quietly. 

“A little, but I’m okay.” He gives her a flimsy smile. “Daddy’s always okay, love. You don’t have to worry about us.”

It’s hard to convince her of that when they’re all stuck in one room and Harry’s seconds away from exploding into a fit of sobs. It gets worse as the time progresses, the need to feel, and it doesn’t help that Louis’ cuddling him for the first time in a week. Harry’s holding an eye pack to his eye, and it only makes it hurt worse, until he can’t feel it at all, the cold numbing it. He can only hold back the tears for about twenty minutes until he’s turning around in Louis’ arms so the sob that rips out of his mouth is quieted by his chest. 

“Hey, hey,” Louis whispers soothingly, rubbing his back. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Harry.”

But Harry can’t stop crying, so Louis helps him out of bed and tells Addison it’s okay and guides him to the bathroom, where they lock the door that Harry sinks down in front of, crying and crying and gripping onto Louis like he’s the only good thing left in the world. Sometimes it feels like the truth. 

Harry cries for a long time. It gets worse when he starts to cough in between every sob, and he gets all sweaty and hot and cries some more. Louis stays crouched down in front of him, one hand holding one of Harry’s and the other rubbing his thigh. “You’re okay,” he keeps saying, like Harry’s naive enough to believe that anymore. Harry doesn’t start calming down until after he gets caught in a coughing fit and winds up slumped in front of the toilet, certain he’s going to throw up. He doesn’t, thankfully. That’d be too much crappiness for one day, he thinks. 

Once he’s cried out and the coughing stops, he rests his cheek on the toilet seat. Louis quickly moves him up, tells him that that’s disgusting, and moves around so Harry’s cheek is leaning against his thigh, his head in his lap. 

“You’re okay,” Louis says again, petting over his hip. “You’re okay, Harry.”

Harry doesn’t believe it for a second, but it feels good regardless. 

-

The morning is a blur. One second he’s explaining to Addison that she might stay with her grandmother for a bit, and the next he’s standing in front of his mom’s door with Addison on his hip, playing with the collar of his shirt nervously. Louis’ waiting in the car for now. Harry’s too scared to knock. At least he knows it’s the right house; one of her cats is sitting on the porch, eyeing him carefully. 

“What are we doing, Daddy?” Addison says after about a full two minutes of Harry standing there. Harry lets out a nervous sound before kissing her on the head and finally knocking on the door. 

There are no words for how he feels, then. Waiting. It’s the worst anxiety he’s ever felt, and yet it somehow gets a million times worse, more painful, when the door opens and his mother is standing there. 

They stare at each other through the screen door for at least a minute. He wants her to be the one to say something first, but he knows he can’t be afforded that when she goes to shut the door and Harry has to lunge forward to open the screen door and stop her from shutting the main door. 

“Please,” he says, breathless. “Please, Mom. Hear me out. I’m not here for me.”

Anne looks at Addison for the first time, then, who’s staring back at her with a frightened look. Her blunt nails are kneading into Harry’s skin, and Harry wants to tell her it’s okay but he’s not really sure that it is. 

“What do you want?” she asks, cold. 

Harry swallows thickly. “To talk. Can we please talk?”

It feels like he’s walking through a dream as she takes him through the kitchen and tells him to sit at the table. He does, and Addison is still clinging to him so he lets her sit on his lap. Anne doesn’t sit. She just stares at him from a few feet away, looking so, so disappointed. 

He sets a shaking hand on top of Addison’s head. “This is Addison,” he says. “Gemma’s -- ”

“I know who she is.”

“Okay,” Harry says quietly. “Um. Adds, love, this is your grandma. My mom.”

Addison doesn’t say anything, just folds into him more. Harry kisses her cheek. 

“Where’s Louis?” his mom asks, tone still void of emotion. “Are you not together anymore? I’m not surprised. Gay couples are much more likely to break up.”

Harry stares at her in disbelief. He shouldn’t be surprised, he really shouldn’t, just -- what the fuck. Seriously? After all this time. . . 

“Louis’ in the car,” he tells her thickly. “He didn’t want to intrude.”

She scoffs and crosses her arms. “He should’ve thought about that a long time ago.”

“Mom,” Harry whispers, pleading. “Please. I want to talk to you.”

She stares at him -- Jesus, if only they would say what they’re trying to communicate through their looks -- before nodding once. “Not in front of her,” she says. “She can watch TV in the sun room. The cats are in there.”

Harry nods, standing up. “I don’t think she’s allergic,” he says, and it hurts, the way he still knows his way around this house. It’s not his anymore. It doesn’t feel like it ever really was. When Harry sets her down on the couch and tells her to play with the kitties and watch TV while he talks to Anne, she looks hesitant. Harry has to coax her into it; “Look how soft they are, love. They’re so cute, right? Come on, pet them, they’re nice.” He grabs her hand and pets the cat sunbathing on the couch, and she breaks out into a slow smile. 

“Nice,” she echoes, and he nods. 

“Yeah. Be nice to them back, okay? Don’t play rough. Just pet them for now.” He hands her the remote, says he’ll be right back, and goes back to his mother. She’s sitting at the table now, and he sits across from her, even though it’s about the most intimidating thing he’s ever done. 

“What happened to your eye?” she asks, and despite the question, it doesn’t sound or look like she cares too much to know. 

“I got hit,” he says a little uselessly. She raises her eyebrow at him. 

“By Louis? You know, that’s common in homosex -- ”

“Stop talking about him like that, I swear to God,” Harry snaps, feeling widely protective and defensive. “Louis is a good person. He’s _good._ I don’t care if you don’t like that we’re a couple, he deserves some respect. He’s a human _being,_ Mom.” He didn’t expect to get this emotional so quickly, but there’s already tears in his eyes and his voice sounds thick. 

She purses her lips and doesn’t say anything. 

Harry presses the heel of his hand against his uninjured eye and exhales deeply. Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe this isn’t a safe place for Addison, not if Anne’s going to be spewing homophobic bullshit to her. It’s difficult for Harry to have to hear that, and Addison’s much younger than him. That’s not fair on her. 

“Who hit you, if not Louis?

Harry forces himself to stay calm. Louis and he decided honestly will help them here more than it will hurt. The last time his mom found out the truth about something, it cost him everything. It’s not the same thing, but still. There’s no point in lying. “Work,” Harry says. 

“Where do you work?”

He rubs his eye a final time before putting his hands on the table and staring at them. “A dry cleaner’s during the day,” he says. “And, um. A club at night.”

“A _club_?”

“A gay bar,” he clarifies, and he has to look at her then. Her eyes are narrowed at him, and Harry’s not even sure she put two and two together yet. So he tries to move past that, to take a little bit of heat off of himself. “Louis works full-time at a restaurant.”

“Neither one of you went to college?”

He gives her a helpless look. “How do you think we could afford that, Mom?” he asks, and again, his voice breaks. “We tried putting me through college, but we couldn’t afford it. I was studying to be an engineer. I was pretty good at it, too.”

She doesn’t have a response to that, just looks at him expectantly, like she’s waiting for him to get to the point. He doesn’t understand how she can be so unaffected by this. By him. He’s her _son_.

“Did you not miss me at all?” Harry asks quietly. He’s so scared to hear the answer. 

She frowns at him. “I didn’t know you. How could I miss someone I didn’t know?”

“You did know me,” he argues. “You knew me better than anybody else. You _raised_ me, Mom. You brought me up to be the person I was, of course you know me.”

“I did not bring you up to be gay.”

“Oh, Christ,” Harry whispers, and he has to stand. He can’t take being seated anymore. “Will you just let that _go?_ What do you want me to do about that?” She opens her mouth, and before she can say anything, he glares at her. “And do not tell me to repent or see a priest or whatever the fuck else.”

“Acknowledging your sins isn’t difficult.”

“Neither is loving your son,” he tells her. “Or your daughter, for that matter.”

Gemma is a wound that will never fully heal for him. He doesn’t know where she is now, dead or alive, sober or worse off than before. She was never a very good big sister to him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love her. 

“Gemma chose her own path,” she says slowly, like she’s explaining something to him that he has no ability to understand. “She was rebellious for her entire life.”

“She was mentally ill. She was addicted to drugs. She needed _help,_ Mom.” 

Anne sighs and shakes her head. “She needed to listen to her mom, that’s what she needed.”

“How did you expect us to listen to you when you stopped talking to us?” Harry asks, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“Before it got that far,” Anne corrects, as if that means anything. 

“You _let_ it get that far.” He scoffs and crosses his arms. “Maybe -- maybe Gemma dug her own grave a bit. She got chance after chance, but you didn’t even give me _one._ You abandoned me like it was easy.”

She must realize he’s right, she _must_ , because she changes the topic quickly. “Is that what you’re here to talk about?” she asks. “If all you came here to do is blame me for your shortcomings, you can leave.”

He takes a long, deep, calming breath before sitting back down at the table and folding his hands in front of him. Maybe he did get a little carried away, but it’s justified. For all he knows, this is the last time he’ll get to talk to her. “You’re right,” he says. “Me and -- um. Louis and I are facing some. . . difficulties. Financial difficulties. And we need your help.”

She glares at him, her eyes squinted and eyebrows raised. “You’ve come to ask me for _money?_ ”

“No,” he says quickly. “No. I mean, if you would be willing to maybe give us a loan that’d help us out a lot, but I assume you wouldn’t do that.”

“No, I most certainly would not.”

Harry nods. That doesn’t hurt; he wouldn’t have expected her to say yes. “It’s -- the three of us don’t have anywhere to go right now. We, um. We’re living in a motel, but me and Louis can’t afford that much longer. It’s. . . We had an apartment for a while. A long time. But we couldn’t afford rent anymore and we got evicted, and then we stayed with someone else for a while but he ended up having to move states, so we. . .” He scratches the back of the neck and coughs quietly. “Me and Louis can live out of our car until we sort something else out. We can do that, but Addy doesn’t deserve that. It wouldn’t be fair to do that to her, and we’re not -- giving her up is not an option. It’s absolutely not on the table. But we were wondering if you would maybe be willing to take care of her for a bit?” Her expression changes, from judgement to something else, and before she can say no, Harry continues on. “If you don’t want to let me and Louis stay here, too, I understand. I don’t think it’s fair, and I don’t agree with your views, but I understand that you don’t want anything to do with either of us. But Addison is your granddaughter, and you haven’t even met her before. If you want to have a relationship with her at all, now’s the time.”

Anne is silent for an intense minute before she asks, “You’re asking me to look after Gemma’s daughter?”

“ _My_ daughter,” he snaps, the anger and protectiveness too hot to keep at bay. “And only for a little while. _Temporarily._ If you agree to take her in, you have to agree to give her back.”

He doesn’t expect her to agree so quickly. He thought for sure that she’d fight with him a bit; deep down, he had a feeling she wouldn’t say no to Addison, but he didn’t think it’d be so easy. But she does. 

“Okay,” she says. 

Harry’s heart swoops down to his stomach. “Okay?”

“Yes. Okay.”

“But you have to give her back.”

“I will,” she says. “If you’re living in a stable environment.”

Harry eyes her carefully. “If you contact CPS, I swear to -- ”

“Harry,” she snaps, holding her hand up. “I have no interest in ruining the life of that child. Don’t think so lowly of me.”

Tears rush to his eyes and his bottom lip wobbles. He has to wait a few seconds to form any words, and when he does, his voice comes out unsteady and croaky. “You can’t make her hate us,” he says. “You can’t -- don’t teach her that we’ve done anything wrong. Please, Mom.”

Anne doesn’t agree to that part so quickly, but after a minute, she shrugs. “She’ll learn that on her own eventually. I won’t lie to her, but I won’t go out of my way to bring it up, either. I suppose that’s fair.”

It’s embarrassing, the soft sob that he can’t hold back. He doesn’t want to cry in front of her, so he puts his hands in front of his face, elbows on the table, and tries to calm down. When he realizes there’s no stopping the tears, he wipes uselessly at his face and tries to look at her again. “Can we have time to say goodbye? Can -- can Louis come inside and say goodbye?”

She raises her chin, and he thinks that she’s going to say no. “Fine,” she says. 

That makes him calm down a bit. “Okay,” he says shakily. He lifts up a bit to pull a list out of his back pocket and smooths it over with clumsy hands. “I wrote down everything important. Like, where she goes to school and where we work and the phone numbers. And, um. We kind of ran into a bit of trouble at her school. Miss Tammy -- Addison’s teacher -- is a little wary of her home life. I told her she could call you on Monday, so, um.”

“I’m not lying for you.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Harry says. “I told her she’d be staying with you for a little while.”

Anne nods, so Harry continues. 

“And she has epilepsy. It’s not a big deal, her medicine works well and she hasn’t had a seizure in years, but she has to take her medicine every day. She’s good about it, so it shouldn’t be hard. And me and Louis will continue paying for it.”

“Is she a good kid?”

Harry nods eagerly. “Yes. She listens well and she doesn’t complain much and she’s sweet. Really. She’s probably more mature than most kids her age. You can. . . you can go talk to her. Maybe it’ll be better if she gets to know you a little better before we leave.”

He hopes desperately that this won’t be a hard transition on Addison. That, for everything she’s missing, like Louis and Harry, she’ll be gaining so much more in its place. An expensive, comfortable home. Pets. Her own room. A grandmother. He doesn’t want her feeling abandoned. It’s a shit feeling; he should know. 

“And we’re going to visit as much as we can,” Harry says. “Louis probably more than me, since he works less, but. . . I’ll try my hardest to see her a few times a week. Is that okay?”

“Just to visit, sure. Don’t expect me to make dinner for you or something.”

It almost feels like a joke, even though it isn’t and it would be entirely inappropriate for the context, anyway. He nods. “Of course not.”

He nods again and stands. Fear consumes for a moment, but he forces himself to push it down. Even if this causes Addison to hate them, it’s still worth it. It has to be. She’s not going to be living out of a car. 

“I’ll go get Louis, then,” he says, rounding the table as he heads to the door. She mutters something sarcastic under her breath that Harry lets go and opens the door. As he approaches the car, he can see Louis staring out the window, looking tense and chewing on his thumbnail. Harry’s so fucking grateful that he gets to tell him good news. 

Louis jumps when Harry opens the passenger’s door and sits. He relaxes a little when he sees it’s just Harry, and Harry smiles. “She’ll take her,” he says, and immediately, Louis lets out a sigh of relief. Harry can _see_ the tension leaving his body. 

“And you told her about everything? Her medicine and school and visits and stuff?”

“Yeah. She agreed to pretty much everything.”

“But we can’t stay here?”

Harry shakes his head, and Louis doesn’t look too upset by it. Neither of them expected here to invite them back into her home like that. “She said you can come in, just. Be careful. She doesn’t seem to like you much anymore.”

Louis scoffs at them and mumbles a quiet, “Shocker.” And maybe to prove something, to Anne or to himself, he leans over to kiss Harry, hard, on the lips. “Are you okay?” he asks, his lips still brushing against Harry’s. Harry pulls away and nods. 

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t like leaving Addison, but. . . we’re doing what’s right, I think.”

“We are,” Louis agrees. “She’ll understand someday.”

They get out of the car, then, and as they’re walking up the pathway, there’s a cheerful, “Oh, Harry, dear, is that you?” Harry turns to see his mother’s neighbor, an old woman named Mrs. Walker waving at him eagerly. Harry used to do the yard work for her on weekends, took the trash in for her, shoveled the snow. He wonders who does it for her now. 

“Hi, Mrs. Walker,” he says, waving back at her. 

She grins. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. How have you been?”

They exchange the normal small talk as Louis stands awkwardly behind him. Once Mrs. Walker says she has to go back inside because her TV program is on, Harry waves her goodbye and turns to walk back to the house. On instinct, he reaches out to brush his fingers over Louis’ hip, and after he’s done it, they both look at each other warily. 

“She’d probably piss herself if we do anything in front of her,” Louis says, and Harry nods. She probably would. “For the next however long, we’re just friends and I’ve totally never had my tongue in your ass.”

“Jesus Christ, Louis,” Harry mumbles, laughing quietly. He pushes him lightly, and then they’re at the door again. The same nervousness consumes Harry, but Louis has no problem opening the door and walking right in. It’s fascinating, the way Louis can cling to his dignity. 

Anne and Addison are sitting at the table petting a cat and talking about school. As soon as Addison catches sight of them, she goes to stand, and Harry tells her she can sit. She does, looking nervous. Harry tried explaining to her that she might live here this morning, but that was all hypothetical. Now, it’s very real. Now, she might get upset. So they try to act like everything’s normal as they sit down, Louis at the farthest seat from Anne. Anne lets out a bitter chuckle, and Harry ignores it. 

“Hi, baby,” he says. “Aren’t the kitties nice?”

She nods. “Yeah. They’re soft.” She pets the cat again, like she’s double-checking. “Can we get a kitty?”

Louis and Harry exchange a look before looking back at her. Louis clears his throat and smiles. “Well, Anne’s got loads of cats here. _Loads_.” He’s pushing buttons in the subtlest of ways, and it’s almost entertaining, how visibly irritated Anne’s getting by it already. Harry doesn’t want the situation getting any worse by Louis and his mom ripping each other’s heads off, but he’s not sure it could go any other way. “And, Adds, it looks like you’re going to be staying here for a bit, okay? With Anne. So you’ll get to see the kitties all the time.”

“With you?” she asks, looking nervous. 

Louis shakes his head. “No, baby. Me and Dad are going to be at the motel. But you’ll be perfectly safe here, okay? And we’ll visit all the time.”

Addison’s face turns a light shade of pink and she starts squeezing her hands together like she doesn’t when she’s anxious. Harry stands and goes over to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and kissing her cheek. 

“You’ll be okay, sweetheart,” he whispers. “Me and Dad would never leave you somewhere that you won’t be completely okay, you know that, right?”

She doesn’t say anything, just turns to hide her face in his chest. 

“Darling,” he whispers, pained. “I promise you’re going to have fun, okay? I grew up here, and I had tons of fun. I know you don’t know her very well, but your grandma’s a very nice lady, okay?” And now he’s talking as quiet as he possibly can to ensure that Anne can’t hear him. She doesn’t deserve to hear him speak highly of her. “She’ll keep you safe and make sure you’re happy. You’ll be happy here, baby. I promise.”

“Want you to stay,” she says, curling her fingers around the front of her shirt. 

“I know. I know you do. But sometimes we can’t have what we want, yeah? You know that.” He squeezes her hand as a reminder that he loves her. So much. “I know it’ll be scary at first, but you have to promise me that you’ll give it a shot. Okay? Promise me?”

She lets out a soft whimper before whispering a small promise against his chest. They don’t deserve her, they really don’t. She’s far too good for them. 

“Come on, love,” he says, pulling away from her a little. As he does, she pushes closer to him, not wanting him to get too far away. So he picks her up and sets her on his hip. “I’ll bring your stuff in from the car, okay? So all of your things will be here with you. And we can get your room ready for you before we go, would you like that?”

She nods against his neck, and he pokes the tip of her nose. As he hoped, it makes her smile a bit. 

“Okay, bub. Sit with Dad while I grab your things.” Louis stands and Harry hands her off to him, and she clings to him just as tightly. He turns to his mom and asks, “Is she going to stay in my old room?”

Anne shrugs. “I guess that’s fine. I haven’t touched it much since you left.”

He looks at Louis. “Just take her to my room, Lou. Show her the nearest bathroom and everything.”

Louis nods and as he walks forward, Anne stands up, too. Louis gives her a look, one that makes Harry’s skin crawl, and says, “Don’t worry about it, Anne. I know where his room is.”

And it’s bold, reminding Anne that he knows every part of her son. That’s what he’s trying to do. And maybe it’s wrong, considering she’s letting their daughter stay with her on such a short notice, but it doesn’t matter. Because what’s really wrong is kicking out your son for being gay. _That’s_ fucked up. So if Louis needs to make jabs at her to remind her out of her place or remind her of his own, then so be it. Harry isn’t in a rush to defend his mom. 

And seeing the look of disgust on her face is kind of amusing to Harry, in a twisted, painful kind of way. 

Addison sitting on what used to be Harry’s big, comfy bed comforts him endlessly. This will be a safe space for her, the same was it was for Harry all the way up until that one night. She’ll be fine here. She’ll learn to like it here. It’ll be okay. And Harry’s everywhere in this room; old posters still stuck to the wall, scholar achievements on his dresser, some old knick-knacks laying in the drawers. She seems to like that this used to be Harry’s room, too, and she likes it a lot more when they get her blanket and pillow put on the bed and her toys on the side table and her clothes in the drawers. She’s still apprehensive as fuck, Harry can see it in her eyes, but it’s okay. 

“She doesn’t have a lot of stuff,” Anne points out, and Harry shrugs. 

“She has what she needs. Don’t spoil her too much, okay?” And he regrets it after he says it, because Addison deserves to be spoiled for a few months. A few months, that’s it, that’s all they’re giving themselves. If they still haven’t figured it out in three, maybe four months, then they’re taking her back anyway. The plan is to secure an apartment and have enough money to afford a couple of month’s rent before taking her back, but if that’s not possible, then it doesn’t matter. He won’t have their daughter away from them for that long. 

When Anne tells them it’s time to go, Harry stops feeling so optimistic about the whole thing. He’s leaving his daughter alone. Even if it’s with someone he trusts, that doesn’t make it hurt any less. Harry and Louis are going to officially be living out of their car as of tomorrow. Harry’s out of a job at the club for at least a week, maybe two, until his eye clears up. What the fuck is there to be optimistc about? But he tries to hang onto that little bit of hope long enough that he can say goodbye to Addison without crying. And it works, to some extent. He doesn’t technically cry, even if his voice goes all tight and his hand shakes as he brushes her hair back out of her face. Addison cries, though. She cries and cries and cries, and Harry and Louis have to leave her like that, because Anne keeps saying she has to start lunch and that she wants them gone. 

Walking out of the house without their daughter in hand feels so wrong. It goes against every single one of his instincts, and he can’t help the way he grabs Louis’ hand. He knows his mom is watching them, he can feel her stare on his back, but he can’t help it. He needs Louis, and Louis needs him right back. She’s grown, she can take seeing them holding hands. 

When they get back to the motel, they stay silent for a long time. It’s eerily quiet, even when Louis turns the TV on. After about an hour, Louis grabs Harry’s arm and tugs him closer, and Harry closes willingly, folding himself against Louis’ side. 

“What do you think she’s doing?” Louis asks quietly, stroking his hair. Harry draws random shapes against Louis’ stomach. 

“Playing with the cats,” Harry guesses. “They’ve probably just got done eating lunch. Maybe they had a sandwich. Or soup. My mom likes soup.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And she’s probably -- she’s probably going to go outside next. Play with her chalk. The backyard is huge, Louis, she’s going to love it. She’s going to -- she’s going to forget all about us.” He laughs even though everything hurts, and Louis kisses the top of his head. 

“That sounds nice.”

“Yeah. Yeah it does.”

Even though it feels entirely wrong given the circumstances, Harry and Louis have sex tonight. It’s just the two of them, and they have enough privacy for it to be okay to fuck on the bed. Harry hasn’t been fucked in a bed in so fucking long. At first, they’re awkward and teary-eyed and clumsy, but eventually, they find their stride and a way to turn off the emotions and just feel. Feel the pleasure, the slight twinges of pain, the other. It’s a lot, emotionally and physically. Harry feels so ugly, and not only because of his black eye. It’s hard to give yourself to someone else when you don’t even want yourself, but he pushes through it and gives into the feeling. He lets himself have it, this one night, because who knows what their nights will look like after this. 

-

Harry knew living out of the car wouldn’t be easy. For the obvious reasons: lack of space, uncomfortable sleeping arrangements, barely any reinforcement to avoid the outside weather. And he thought about the more unconventional reasons, too, like the fact that sometimes Louis worked when he didn’t so Harry either had to walk to Louis’ work to get to the car or find somewhere else to go, and how hygiene would be difficult. He stopped by the club to ask Josh if it’d be okay if they used the showers there, and Josh didn’t care. It makes Louis wildly uncomfortable, especially when some of the boys give him a hard time, but he’s a big boy, he can handle it. And he’s pretty sure the cops don’t allow people sleeping in their cars, for whatever stupid reason. But Harry didn’t realize the mental impact it would have on him. On both of them. He feels trapped and suffocated, even when he isn’t in the stupid car. It’s like he lost all his purpose in life, without a homebase and his daughter. It’s. . . it’s about the hardest thing he’s ever been through, probably, and it’s only been a month. 

The last time Harry saw Addison was about a week ago, and Anne asked to speak to him privately. He complied, and she told him that she didn’t want Harry working in a “gay cesspool.” He tried to tell her that it was their largest source of income, but she said if he wanted Addison living with her, then he’d have to quit. And it’s not like he’s in any position to argue, so he listens and quits. Two nights ago was his last shift, and Josh was a little annoyed like he always is whenever Harry ducks out again, but he says he’s welcome back whenever. To try and make up for the lack of income, Harry’s going to go back to the gas station, to Tony, to see if he can start working nights there again. He’s dreading it, so he’s pushing it off until tomorrow. 

To make matters worse -- because that’s how it always is, isn’t it -- Harry’s small, infrequent cough has turned into something else. Something worse, maybe. He’s coughing more now, and it sounds more crinkled and congested than before. He’s starting to notice himself losing his breath sometimes, and yesterday when he was messing around with Louis in the backseat, he let out a sharp moan which then prompted a fit of coughs that led to him coughing up mucus and spit. It was -- gross. And a bit concerning. Every time they see each other now, Louis checks him for a fever. 

Everything’s difficult. Harry’s sickly and missing his child and living out of a car, for fuck’s sake. And there’s no positive in that, no silver lining, but he does recognize how much harder it would be if he didn’t have Louis. As fucking stupid as it sounds, _Louis’_ his homebase, and as long as he has that, he has something to look forward to.

-

He’s nervous, going back into the gas station. Super fucking nervous. He’s ready to get chewed out by Tony, have him laugh at him and say he’ll never be hired again. And there’s another fear lurking into the corner of his brain, one that he won't acknowledge. But he has to at least try, so he stops by the store during the day while Louis’ at work and walks in, his hands shoved in his pockets and his breath caught at the bottom of his lungs. He nods at the girl working at the counter and tells her that he’s an old employee, so she lets him behind the counter. Harry takes a long, deep breath before knocking on the door to his office. 

“What the fuck do you want, Bethany?”

Harry lets out a shaky laugh. “Not Bethany,” he says. “It’s -- um. It’s Harry.”

There’s a short pause before Tony tells him to come in. Harry does, and once he’s stepped in the office, he realizes how small it is in here. How cramped. He stays by the door and only cringes a little bit when Tony tells him to shut it. He does, telling himself that it’s okay, that Tony’s a good foot away still and sitting down. 

“Hey, Tony,” he says awkwardly. “Do you have a minute to talk?”

“Sure. About what?”

Harry squeezes his hands together and tries not to look too nervous. “I was wondering if I could have my old job back. You know, working nights here. Is that possible?”

Tony leans back into his chair. “Depends.”

“On what?”

Tony gives him a dirty little grin and stands. Harry, very aware of what could happen and not naive enough to try and deny it, puts his hand on the doorknob. He knew he shouldn’t have come here. He knew it. He made sure to tell Louis about fifty-thousand times where he was going so if Harry didn’t show back up, Louis would know where to start looking. That alone should have been enough to convince him not to come here. 

“How bad do you want this job?”

Harry’s heart really starts slamming in his chest when Tony takes a step forward. “Not that bad,” he says. “I have to go.” He twists the knob and has the door pulled up not even an inch before Tony’s right there, slamming the door shut and digging his nails into Harry’s wrist, trying to get him to let go of the doorknob. Harry’s not fucking doing this, he’s not, and he won’t let go of the fucking doorknob because his life could very well depend on it, so he uses the hand farthest from Tony to smash the heel of his hand against Tony’s nose. And Harry’s the one who got violent first, so now he knows he really needs to get the fuck out of here, and he tries, he does, but Tony slams him against the door, using all of his body weight. Harry cries out, and he manages to get the door open the tiniest bit, and he puts his hand there to make sure it doesn’t shut again, but then Tony’s slamming the door again, this time on Harry’s hand, and Harry fucking screams, because holy fucking shit does that hurt. He draws back his elbow of his free arm to knock Tony back the best he can, and it barely works, Tony’s got him in a bad position. He’s frantic now, trying to get Tony off of him while simultaneously trying to get his hand out of the door. 

“Bethany, open the -- ”

Tony slaps a hand over his mouth and yanks him back, and Harry can feel the skin rip off his fingers as it’s yanked from the door, and even though his hand is searing with pain and he’s completely panicking, the door is now cracked open and Tony’s given him room to move. He slams his elbow back again, this time actually hitting Tony, and drives his foot back to aim for Tony’s knee. It misses, it hits his calf, but his elbow catches Tony’s face and Tony lets him go for a fraction of a second, long enough for Harry to get his hands off of him and to grab a binder off the filing cabinet and turn around and use all of his strength to slam it against Tony’s head. He doesn’t look back to see how bad it hurt before he’s opening the door all the way and running out, and Bethany’s looking at him with such horror on her face that he almost feels bad for her. 

“Don’t call the police,” he snaps at her just before he pushes open the store door and just fucking books it down the sidewalk, running as fast as he can. The adrenaline aids him, while the congestion in his chest threatens to suffocate him. He doesn’t stop though, not even when he feels vomit boil in his stomach. He can’t stop, can’t get caught, can’t get hurt. Eventually he does have to stop, and when he does, he throws up so violently that it hurts every part of him that doesn’t hurt already. There’s a woman nearby staring at him as he hurls into a bush, but she doesn’t ask him if he’s okay and he doesn’t blame her. Once he’s finished, he turns around to make sure nobody has followed him, and once he’s sure Tony’s nowhere near him, he starts moving again, this time at a speed-walk to try and soothe the fire in his chest. It doesn’t help, and by the time he makes it to Louis’ work, he’s coughing so hard that it makes him throw up again. He slumps behind a wall, careful to make sure nobody sees him, and finishes throwing up and trying not to cough to death. After about five minutes, maybe more, Harry stops coughing so roughly and wipes at his mouth with the hand that he only notices now is bleeding. The middle three fingers’ skin is all torn apart, especially around the knuckles, and he lets out a soft cry and cradles his hand to his chest. His black eye has only recently healed, and now this. 

And now this. 

But he’s with Louis now. Sort of. He has to at least try and make himself look presentable before going inside. So once he’s sure he’s not going to die via a coughing fit as soon as he stands, he makes his way to the car and changes into a clean shirt and wraps his hand with an old bandana he finds tucked into Louis’ visor. He tries to find a water bottle he can drink from, but they’re all empty, so he wipes his face and heads inside. 

It’s stupid, how caught off guard he is when a hostess asks him if he wants a table or a booth. He stares at her for at least ten seconds before he clears his throat. 

“Is, um. Is Louis busy?”

The girl looks out at the seating area. Harry follows her gaze. It’s moderately busy, at least half the restaurant filled, and Harry spots Louis right away, laughing with some customers seated in a booth. 

“Can I just wait for him to have a second?” he asks. 

“Yeah, sure. Are you Harry?” He gives her a weird look, and she laughs. “He talks about you a lot. Sit wherever you want.”

Harry thanks her quietly before finding a seat that’s in the corner, tucked away from everyone else. He doesn’t want Louis to see him and worry, so he sits facing away from him and slouches a bit. This isn’t -- he’s not going to bother Louis at work. He kind of just wants to sit here, to be honest. He doesn’t want to be by himself. If Louis has a minute to talk, then sure, Harry won’t mind pulling him away for a bit, but he doesn’t want him to get in any trouble. 

He’s messing with the frayed edge of the bandana when a voice approaching him says, “Hi, welcome to Rosy’s, what can I -- oh, Harry.” Louis’ at his table, then, smiling a bit, although he looks confused. “What, did you have to piss or something?” He hits Harry over the head with a menu, gently, obviously, before sitting across from him. He’s about to say something else when his eyes drop down to the bandana wrapped around Harry’s hand. “Are you hurt?”

Harry shrugs, completely unconvincingly, as he puts his hands in his lap and says, “A bit. I’m fine. Do you mind if I just sit inside for a bit?”

“No, that’s fine. We aren’t really busy anyway. What happened to your hand, though? And why do you smell like puke?”

Harry scowls at him. “Gee, thanks, Louis.” He runs his tongue over his teeth subconsciously and shakes his head. “Slammed it in a door. And then puked. So. That was fun.”

Louis stares at him for a few seconds before saying, “Yeah, you’re not telling me the truth. I’ll get you some water and whatever that’s been sent back to the kitchen in the last hour. And I’ll interrogate you when I have a moment, ‘kay?” He stands and kisses Harry’s cheek before heading to the kitchen. He returns a minute later with a water and a plate of mozzarella sticks. Louis sets it down in front of him, drops his voice and says, “That lady over there said these looked too dark. What does that even mean?”

“I have no clue, but you’re not going to get in trouble giving me food, are you?”

“No,” Louis says. “They would be thrown out if somebody didn’t eat them, so.” He reaches forward to brush his fingers under Harry’s jaw, and Harry’s far too emotionally fragile right now because it makes him want to cry a little bit. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Harry nods. “Fine, Lou. We’ll talk later, okay? Don’t let me keep you.”

Louis complies, mostly because he has no other choice. For the next half hour or so as Harry eats the mozzarella sticks, he can feel Louis keeping an eye on him. Harry considers leaving -- he really doesn’t want to be a distraction -- but he can’t stomach the idea of being all alone inside a hot car right now, so he stays. He stays all night, even after Louis tells him to sit at the bar so he can seat a happy-looking family of five. The bartenders offers Harry a free drink, but Harry rejects it. At first. He ends up taking him up on that offer after about the fifty-thousandth time he reruns through what happened earlier in his head. The bartender hands him what looks and tastes to be a Sea Breeze, and he’s sucking on the straw when Louis comes over and touches his elbow. 

“I’m on my break, come on,” he says. “Come talk to me for a bit.”

Harry follows him out back, only a few feet from where Harry was sitting earlier. Louis sits on the ground, back against the wall, so Harry follows suit, making sure he doesn’t spill his drink. 

“What happened?” Louis asks him. “You seem sad, H. And we have a half hour to talk about it now, so. Talk to me.”

Tears jump to his eyes immediately as he tries to think of how he’d even explain what happened. Or what almost happened. To try and suppress them, Harry takes a sip of the drink. It works a little. He clears his throat and keeps his eyes focused on the crack in the pavement in front of him. “I stopped by the gas station. To see if I could get my old job back. And Tony, like. I don’t even know.”

Louis’ quiet before he asks, “Did he hurt you?”

Harry resists the urge to flex his hurt fingers and nods.

“Why? What happened?”

Harry lets out a bitter laugh as he looks up at the sky. It’s bright, and it hurts his eyes to look at it, but he figures it’d hurt more to have to look Louis in the face. “I didn’t want the job bad enough to blow him,” he says. “Or -- or maybe he wanted to fuck me, I don’t know. I didn’t let him get that far.”

“Harry.” Louis sounds serious now. “He didn’t -- what did he do to you?”

“He didn’t _do_ anything. He just tried to.”

Thankfully, Louis doesn’t ask him to spell it out. They’re both intelligent enough to know what he means. “How did you hurt your hand?”

Now Harry bends his knuckles, and he regrets it as hot pain shoots throughout his hands. “I tried to leave, and he didn’t want me to. He slammed my hand in the door. And then,” Harry’s voice cracks, and it makes him sound so weak. “And then he, like, pulled me back hard enough for my hand to come out of the door, and it -- it hurt. A lot.”

“Can I see it?”

Hesitantly, Harry holds his out for Louis. Louis’ careful about unwrapping it, and as he does so, Harry keeps looking at the sky. 

“Jesus, Haz,” Louis says, sighing. “Do you think your fingers are broken?”

“I don’t know.” Harry looks down at his hand, and he doesn’t want to look at the mess of his fingers, so he stares at the four nail marks embedded in his wrist. 

Louis makes sure to be gentle with him, and he doesn’t touch where it hurts. Softly, he sets Harry’s hand on his knee before standing up. “I’ll go get you a bandage, babe. Hold on.”

“I don’t need -- ”

“Shut it, Harry,” Louis grumbles, looking down at him. “You put a however-many-year old, dirty bandana on an open wound. Not the brightest idea.”

Harry stares up at him. “You used a napkin to try and stop the bleeding on a two-inch cut.”

“A _clean_ napkin,” Louis says, smiling to try and hide the sad look in his eyes. “Hang tight, I’ll be right back.”

He leaves, and true to his word, he does come right back with a first aid kit in tow. Harry rolls his eyes and mumbles that it’s not that bad, but he’s not going to deny ointment and a bandage when he actually needs it. 

As Louis patches him up, he asks, “So I realized we never got to the puking bit of the story. Care to share?”

“I was running -- he didn’t chase me, but I was scared he might -- and I had one of those stupid coughing fits. And I threw up in a bush. And then in front of the restaurant. Sorry.”

Louis lets out a long, tired sigh. “Maybe we should think about taking you to see a doctor.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“It’s been getting worse.”

“I’m fine,” Harry insists. 

Louis shakes his head. “I’m seeing Addison tomorrow morning before work. I’m going to talk to Anne about having you stay with her.”

Harry yanks his hand from Louis, and it’s hard to ignore the wave of pain it sends through him, but he pushes through it. “No, you’re not,” he snaps, holding his hand to his chest. The middle three fingers are bandaged together, although the bandage hangs loose since Louis didn’t have a chance to secure it yet. “Don’t be stupid. She’ll just say no.”

“What if she says yes?”

“Then _I’ll_ say no,” Harry tells him. “I’m not leaving you.”

Louis gives him a look like he’s being unreasonable. “Harry -- ”

“No,” Harry interrupts. “Shut the fuck up about that. I’m not leaving you alone.”

“But -- ”

“ _No._ ”

Louis sighs again and takes back his hand. Harry lets him finish up the bandage. “Fine,” he says. “But if your -- cold or whatever gets worse, we’re doing one or the other. Doctor or your mom’s house.”

“Okay. Fine. I’ll see a doctor if it gets worse.”

Louis doesn’t push it, and they spend the rest of Louis’ break in comfortable silence, leaning against each other. Once his half hour is up, Harry tells him he’ll stay in the car but Louis insists that he come back inside, that he’s not in the way. And Harry doesn’t actually want to be all by himself, so he follows Louis back inside and sits back at the bar and agrees to have his cup filled again. 

-

He sees Addison the following night, barely four hours after Louis said he was going to see her. They try not to stop by the same day unless they’re with each other, but Harry worked this morning and Louis works tonight, and they both wanted to see her today. So, if Anne is going to be annoyed with them, Harry’s okay with that. He just wants to see his daughter. Addison, like she always is, is ecstatic to see him, and she drags Harry upstairs to her room to show him this dollhouse that Anne bought her. It’s big and bulky and probably cost far more than it’s worth, but Harry doesn’t say anything about it. Addison deserves nice things, and if Anne can be the one to give her them, then so be it. He does, however, frown at how shitty the dolls they bought her from the thrift store look next to the new, shiny house. 

They play with the dolls and talk for about an hour until Anne knocks on her door and tells her that it’s time to shower. Harry keeps his qualms with that to himself until Addison leaves the room, and when she does, Harry gets up off the floor and looks at his mom. 

“We don’t let her shower by herself just yet,” he says cautiously, careful not to make it sound like he knows better. “We like to at least have the door open so if she needs us, we can be right there.”

Anne shrugs. “She’s almost six, she’s a big girl. And there haven't been any problems so far.”

And, well. Fair enough. He can’t tell Anne how to do things, partly because she’s doing them a huge favor and partly because she’s raised two kids and they didn’t die by showering without supervision. 

“Speaking of her birthday, me and Louis wanted to take her out, if that’s. . . okay.” It feels wrong, having to ask permission for that. 

“I already promised her that we’ll have you over for dinner,” Anne tells him, and it’s beyond surprising. And kind of scary to think about, because she looks so annoyed at the idea and that’ll mean they have to be around her for at least an hour when she doesn’t want them to be. There’s no way he would pass that up, though, so he agrees. 

There’s an awkward silence between them before she turns on her heel to leave and tells Harry to come downstairs with her. Harry does, albeit a little nervously, and as he walks down the stairs, he can’t swallow back the cluster of coughs that come out of him. He covers his mouth, he tries to make them sound less serious than they might actually be, but she gives him a look anyway. 

“Are you sick?”

Harry follows her to the kitchen, where he sits at one of the stools while she pours him a glass of water. He takes it reluctantly; he doesn’t not want them to be on good terms, but he also doesn’t want her to be nice to him out of pity, or to show that she can afford to be. “It’s just a cold,” he says. 

“Are you sure? You look like you’ve lost a bit of weight since I last saw you.” She gives him a cold look. “ _More_ weight. You’re skinny.”

“I’m _fine_.” He sighs a little and takes a sip of water. “How’s Addison’s school going?”

“Great. She seems to have a lot of friends. What happened to your hand?”

Harry glares at her. “Stop it. Please.”

“I thought I told you to quit that club.”

“I _did_ ,” he snaps. 

“Then what happened to your hand?”

He gives her a hard look before shrugging. “I got in a fight,” he lies, because he’s not going to tell her that some man tried to attack him. He’s not going to give her anything that she’ll use to reaffirm her beliefs towards gay people. 

“A fight?”

“Yeah, a fight.”

“You were never the fighting type before.”

He scoffs and stands up. “All I’ve done for the last six years is fight, Mom.” He leaves, then, mumbling that he’ll wait for Addison upstairs. He sits on her bed and fights the urge to lay down to avoid risk of falling asleep. Addison comes back into the room a few minutes later, her hair in a towel that way he taught her to do and a towel around her body. He asks if she needs help getting dressed, and she gives him a sweet smile and shakes her head. 

“I got it, Daddy.”

It makes him sad. So sad. But then she puts her shirt on backwards and he gets to help with that, and he’s reminded that maybe she does need him after all. 

-

“What’s the first thing you would buy if you were rich?”

“You’re so annoying.”

Harry laughs and sits up a bit. “No, I’m serious,” he says. “What’s the first thing you’d buy if you had a boatload of cash?”

They’re laying in the backseat together, their legs tangled together in the middle seat. Louis’ smoking a cigarette he bummed from someone at work, even though Harry told him it was a bad idea and he shouldn’t fuel an addiction they can’t afford. Louis flipped him off and lit the cigarette. 

“Well, let’s see,” Louis says. There’s a chill coming in from the window, and it’s blowing against Harry. Harry shivers a little, adjusting the covers over him, and Louis stretches behind him to throw the cigarette out the window so he can roll it up. Once he’s done, he goes back to Harry’s question. “A house, obviously.”

“Besides that. Besides the obvious stuff, like a house and a better car.”

“I don’t know, Harry.”

“Come on. Entertain me.”

Louis goes quiet, actually giving it some thought, before he answers. “Probably. . . probably a bunch of kitchen stuff.” Harry snorts, and Louis narrows his eyes at him and digs his toe into the side of Harry’s thigh. “No, I’m serious. I miss cooking, even though I’m fucking shit at it. When’s the last time either of us made anything that we didn’t just eat up or buy somewhere?”

“You’re right. I guess that would be nice.”

Louis hums. “What about you?”

Harry doesn’t have to think about it as long. “I’d hire a P.I. You know, a private investigator? To find Gemma. I’d want to help her, but I doubt she’s even in Chicago anymore.”

“You think she’d move?”

He shakes his head sadly. “I think she’d flee. I think she’d have something to flee from.”

“No,” Louis says, sitting up completely. He leans forward to set his hands on top of Harry’s knees and squeezes. “She’s living on the other side of Chicago with some rich guy and, like, two spoiled rotten kids.”

Even though it’s basically impossible, Harry would like to believe that. He smiles softly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why wouldn’t she come back for Addison?”

Louis leans forward even more to press a chaste kiss to Harry’s lips. “Because,” he whispers. “She knows she’s safe with us.”

Harry rests his forehead against Louis, the tips of their noses bumping into each other. They smile at the same time, and it makes Harry’s chest tighten, in a good way. 

-

For Addison’s sixth birthday, they buy her a four-pack of playdoh, a new doll and a locket. Louis had found it at work a while ago and he’s been saving it for her birthday. They don’t have many pictures of the three of them, and the ones they do have are at least a few years old, so for now they put a little note in there, a simple _we love you x._ They’re going to ask Anne to take a picture of them and put it in her necklace for her. Harry can’t imagine why she would say no. 

As they drive to Anne’s house, Harry keeps his head against the window, the slight coolness it brings doing him good. He woke up this morning feeling clammy and flushed, and he didn’t need Louis checking his forehead to know he had a fever. A tiny one. They bought a thermometer at the dollar store, and he’s not even hitting one-hundred degrees yet. He’s totally fine. 

And he could probably convince himself that if he didn’t feel so weak and his cough was so persistent. He’s trying to keep it hidden, and he keeps saying he’s fine, but he knows Louis doesn’t believe him. 

“I want you to ask your mom for some cough medicine or something,” Louis tells him as they walk up the driveway, their hands intertwined even though it’s a bad idea. “I can pick you up some at the pharmacy, but she’s probably got the good stuff.”

Harry scoffs. “You make her sound like a drug dealer or something.”

When Anne answers the door and sees them holding hands, she immediately scowls at them, but Harry and Louis ignore it and step past her to see Addison. She runs over to them and hugs them both, and they wish her a happy birthday.

“You feel old yet?” Louis asks her, twirling the bottom of her braid in his hand. She shakes her head. 

“Not yet.”

Harry pokes her nose and she squirms away and tells them to follow her. She leads them up the stairs, and as they follow her, they walk past a cat, who Addison scoops up and carries with her. The cat doesn’t seem to like the way she’s holding them, but it doesn’t scratch and Addison puts them down soon enough. Addison digs through her drawers before turning around and showing them a bathing suit.

“Grandma’s going to teach me how to swim,” she tells them, absolutely _beaming_. It makes Harry so happy for her. 

“No,” a voice says behind them, and Harry turns to see Anne coming up the stairs. “Grandma’s going to pay someone _else_ to teach you how to swim.” She stops at the doorway and looks at Addison. She looks completely in love with her, and Harry didn’t expect anything different, but it still makes his stomach roll nervously. “I was telling Addison about how awful of a swimmer you are.”

It’s not mean. It’s actually sort of fond, which makes Harry look at her in surprise. He smiles a bit and shrugs. “Doesn’t matter, really. It’s not like there’s any water in Chicago.”

“It’d be good for her to learn anyway,” Louis says, and Harry nods. He wants her to be protected from as many threats as possible. 

There’s a natural pause in conversation as they all watch Addison shake around her swimsuit, showing it off. And then Anne says, “Are you any good at swimming, Louis?”

It makes Harry nervous. Whenever they interact it makes him nervous, but her directly speaking to him is an entirely different level. He presses his knuckles against Louis’ thigh, trying to soothe him from a burn that hasn’t appeared yet. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.” Louis sounds a little guarded. He’s probably surprised, too. “I taught my little sisters.”

Anne nods slowly. “And have you talked to any of your sisters recently?”

Louis shakes his head and stands before leaning down in front of Addison and taking the swimsuit from him. He doesn’t like this topic of conversation. “They’re better off without me, don’t you think?” Louis asks, and now he sounds a little defensive, like he’s reminding Anne that she thought of them as such bad people that she couldn’t even associate with them. Before Anne can respond, Louis’ picking Addison up and saying they should all sit outside for a little while. So they do, and as soon as they get outside, the fresh air does something to Harry’s lungs and he’s coughing so hard that even Addison looks at him worriedly. He covers it up quickly. 

“Still got your chalk, baby?” he asks, sitting on the bench outside. Addison nods. “Draw us something, if you want.”

“Okay,” she agrees, and she takes Louis’ hand and walks him to the garage. Jealousy tears through Harry’s stomach; his mom has a garage _and_ a shed. He used to live in such a nice fucking house. 

“You look flushed,” Anne says, and before Harry can push her hand away, she checks his forehead with the back of her hand. “You’re warm, baby.”

He whips his head up to look at her. It makes him so -- so fucking mad. “Don’t call me that,” he snaps. “Don’t you fucking call me that.”

She ignores him, which makes him even angrier. She shouldn’t feel so comfortable invalidating his feelings like that. “You have a fever,” she says. “I’ll get you a Tylenol. And a cough drop.”

Another few coughs hit him as she goes inside, and it’s actually starting to hurt, coughing this much. His chest feels sore and so does his stomach, and it’s so _annoying_. When she returns, he takes the medicine from her and downs it with the glass of water she brings him. The cold of the water clashes with the hot of his throat, and it makes everything burn worse. Despite that, he thanks her for the medicine. He glances back at Addison and Louis, who have just come out of the garage with a bucket of chalk. 

“You should see a doctor,” Anne tells him, and he scoffs lowly. 

“You do realize you lost any right to parent me the minute you kicked me out, right?”

He stands, then, not wanting to hear anything else she’s going to say. He joins Addison and Louis on the cement, where they’ve barely begun to outline the shape of a birthday cake. Harry sits down beside them, and Addison tells him that he’s in charge of handing her what color she needs. 

The night goes over smoothly, for the most part. Addison finishes drawing her picture outside, and then they go back inside and eat dinner. Louis and Harry both do their very best to pretend like they aren’t absolutely dying over how fucking good the stupid pot roast tastes. After dinner, they get that picture that they wanted. Louis and Harry are crouched down on either side of Addison as she smiles in that cute way of hers at the camera. Anne promises that she’ll print it out and put it in the locket for her, which makes Harry stop giving her the cold shoulder. Not like she deserves anything else, but still. She’s the dick here, not him. 

When they sing happy birthday to her and she blows out the candles on top of a delicious-looking, chocolate cake, Harry cheers loudly and it shakes another series of coughs out of him. It’s a bad one, one that he can’t quickly move past, and he’s so close to puking when the coughs finally calm down and he can catch his breath. He does, and Louis’ right there, rubbing his back soothingly and whispering to him quiet things Harry can’t quite process. 

Addison touches his arm softly. “Are you sick, Daddy?”

“No, baby,” he says, voice hoarse. His throat is burning. “Just had something in my throat. Dad’s going to cut the cake while I go use the bathroom really quick, okay?” He kisses the top of her head as he goes. 

In the bathroom, he splashes cold water over his face and takes a few minutes to collect himself. Even when he’s breathing normally now, there’s this slight wheeze to it, and it’s -- Louis’ taking him to the doctor soon. Harry will ask him to, but he’s pretty sure Louis will demand it anyway. And if it’s a simple cold that he wastes money on, he’s going to be pissed. 

Anne’s waiting for him outside the bathroom when he opens the door. He frowns at her. 

“I’ll go to the doctor, I know,” he says shortly, and he goes to side-step her, but she puts a gentle arm on his hand. He pulls back from it quickly and glares at her. “Don’t touch me.”

“I want you to stay here,” she says. “In the shed. It’s big enough for you, and it’ll give you time to get healthy again.”

Harry stares at her, not even letting himself get excited by the idea. “Not without Louis.”

She sighs loudly. “Seriously, Harry? I’m trying to help you.”

“Not without Louis,” he repeats simply, before walking back to the kitchen and sitting with Louis and Addison. It takes Anne a few minutes to join them, and once she does, she’s irritated and more rude to Louis than normal, and it all about does Harry’s head in. He keeps his cool, solely for the sake of his daughter. 

If he purposefully becomes more touchy with Louis after that, well. They all show their anger in different ways.

-

Louis and Harry go to urgent care five days later. The cough just keeps getting worse, even when Harry is sure it would be impossible to, and he’s even more congested and he keeps coughing up mucus. Every time he feels something wet come up his throat, he’s terrified it’s blood. He doesn’t want to let it get that far, so Louis picks him up after his shift at the dry cleaner’s and takes him to urgent care. 

The waiting room isn’t very busy, so Harry gets seen fairly quickly. He gets his temperature and weight and height taken like normal, and he squints at the number on the scale, wondering if it’s smaller than it should be. The nurse takes him to an exam room where he explains his symptoms, and then he does it all over again less than ten minutes later to a doctor. The doctor, a middle aged man called Dr. Franklin, seems a little lax about everything, and it ticks Harry off. 

Once Harry’s done talking, Dr. Franklin nods and says, “Yeah, it sounds like pneumonia to me. The fever, the cough, the congestion. It sounds as if it’s been left untreated for a while, so it might have progressed. I’d like to take a chest x-ray and a CT scan to see what we’re dealing with.”

Harry stares at him. It’s almost funny. “How much will that cost?”

“We don’t have insurance,” Louis adds, and Dr. Franklin shrugs. 

“The chest x-ray will probably run you around three-hundred dollars, and the CT about four-hundred.”

Harry leans forward on the table. “We can’t afford that. Can’t I just take antibiotics?”

“I’ll prescribe you some, but I’d really like to take at least an x-ray.”

“And I’d really like three-hundred dollars to let you do that, but I guess we’re both out of luck,” Harry says, maybe a little shortly. He grabs his coat from behind him and slides it back on, all while Dr. Franklin looks at him like he’s being difficult. Maybe he is, but he doesn’t care. He’s too tired to care.

“Ignore him,” Louis says. “Just -- will the antibiotics take care of it?”

“It should significantly help. But if the infection has spread, it might be harder to handle.”

Harry wants to die a little bit. No, he doesn’t. Metaphorically, not literally. Just -- he’s so irritated. Thinking about money all the time is fucking exhausting. “If the antibiotics don’t work, then we’ll come back,” he says, trying to be less of a dick. “That’s all we can really do.”

Louis doesn’t seem to like that idea. “You can’t just do the scan for him? He sounds terrible. I mean, don’t hospitals do pro-bono stuff occasionally?’

“Not here,” Dr. Franklin says. “Sorry. I’ll go write you that script.”

“Thanks,” Harry mumbles, standing off the table. He doesn’t want to feel like a patient when he’s not necessarily being treated like one. He sits down next to Louis on a normal chair, and when Dr. Franklin leaves, Louis touches his forehead with the back of his hand. 

“You’re still warm.”

“Obviously, Louis,” he says, smiling a bit. “I haven’t done anything for it yet. It’s not just going to go away because I stepped foot in a doctor’s office.”

“But still. Did the nurse tell you what it was at?”

Harry sniffs and pulls Louis’ hand away from his face. “100.7 degrees.”

“It’s gotten worse, then.”

“By, like, .8 degrees, yeah. I’m fine.”

Louis grumbles something under his breath and presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek. “You’re annoying, you know. If I was the one with the fever, you’d probably be doing the same thing as me.”

Harry nods. That’s true. “And you’d be being difficult like me.”

“Fair enough,” Louis mumbles. Maybe to remind himself, Louis runs his finger over the scar on his palm. Things always go alright if one of them pretends like they don’t have a care in the world and the other panics for them. It’s how they do things. “Maybe Anne could loan us the money,” Louis says quietly, and Harry sighs as a response. "Okay,” Louis mumbles. “Okay. You’re right. Sorry.”

Harry leans against him while they wait for the doctor. Eventually, Dr. Franklin comes back with a prescription and Harry and Louis thank him before leaving. They pay the seventy-five dollars owed for just showing up and leave. It’s almost poetic, the way Harry coughs so hard he dry heaves into the bushes outside the hospital. 

-

The antibiotics help, they do, just not nearly enough. His cough is still there, and it hasn’t lessened much. At the laundromat, the boss comes by one day and hears Harry coughing and he sends him home. Harry tries to tell him that it’s just pneumonia, but she looked at him like he was crazy and told him that pneumonia was contagious. He didn’t really know that, but considering Louis hasn’t gotten sick yet, he’s not really worried about it. He is, however, worried about getting Addison sick, so when they both have a day off and Louis says they should visit her together, Harry is apprehensive. 

“Just come inside,” Louis tells him, stroking his arm. He feels so guilty for how poorly Harry is feeling, even though it’s not his fault in literally any way. “We can tell her that you’re sick and not to touch, that’s fine. But she’s going to want to see you.”

And Harry’s not one to pass up the opportunity to see his daughter, so he agrees. 

Each and every time Anne opens the door for them, Harry swears she looks less and less evil. Maybe it’s her softening, or maybe it’s him craving motherly affection that’s making it warped. Maybe it’s both. Either way, she actually smiles a bit when she sees them today. 

“She’s upstairs doing her homework. She should be finishing up soon.” Anne calls for Addison then, saying Harry and Louis are here to see her. She doesn’t say the word ‘dads’ but Harry couldn’t care less. It doesn’t matter anymore. 

Addison comes running, her feet loud as they bounce down the stairs, and Louis reaches for her first so she goes to him. He sets her on his hip and Harry waves at her. “Hey, baby,” he says, and she smiles. 

“You know, she’s getting at the age that you shouldn’t be picking her up so much,” Anne says, not sounding judgemental. She sounds like she’s genuinely trying to help, but Harry and Louis both exchange a pissy look. 

“I’ll pick her up as long as she’ll let me, huh, munchkin?’ Louis kisses her cheek. “Daddy’s got germs, okay, so stay away from him. No touching, you hear me?”

Addison pouts the same time Anne frowns. Harry ignores them both. 

Addison wants to watch a movie with them, so that’s what happens. Except, twenty minutes into the movie Harry leaves the room because he can’t stop coughing. He sits at the kitchen table, breathless and tired, coughing into his elbow. When it doesn’t stop after a minute or two, he goes outside so he doesn’t interrupt the movie. It’s a little chilly out, but it doesn’t really matter. He lays down on the bench, his legs curled so he can fit all the way, and pillows his head on his forearm, still coughing away. 

He’s only just stopped coughing when his mom comes out, and Harry closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to talk to her. To make it clear, he doesn’t sit up so she can sit with him on the bench; instead, she sits at the table a few feet away. 

“You’re sick,” she says. 

Harry scoffs. “I know that.”

“It sounds serious.”

“I’m taking care of it.”

“Is it. . . Is it AIDS?”

And Harry was already fucking annoyed today, and that just sends him over the edge. His eyes snap open and he sits up on his elbow. “Shut the fuck up,” he snaps angrily. “Don’t fucking talk to me like that. Not every gay person has AIDS, Mom. How ignorant can you be?”

She keeps her cool, just like she always does. “Well, have you been tested?”

“I saw a doctor two weeks ago. I have pneumonia, not AIDS. Thanks.”

“But were you tested for -- ”

Harry groans and lays back down, this time on his back. He clenches his eyes shut and scrubs his hands down his face. “Me and Louis haven’t slept with anybody else since we’ve met each other, practically. I don’t have any STDs. Leave me alone.”

“Infidelity is common in -- ”

“ _Shut the fuck up_ ,” he seethes, punctuating every word with as much malice as he can muster. He glares at her, chest heaving. “Just stop talking to me if you can’t go five mintues without insulting my relationship. I love Louis, and he loves me.” He scoffs again and shakes his head. “I’ve been with Louis for almost ten years. Isn’t that longer than you were with Dad?”

She doesn’t like that at all. Even when they were on good terms, Harry wasn’t supposed to talk about his father. About how he left when Harry was three for some other younger woman. So he knows he’s digging into her wounds, and he’s trying to dig his nails in as deep as they can go. She deserves it. 

“That’s embarrassing, isn’t it?” Harry asks, mocking. “Two guys can manage to have a healthy, functioning relationship longer than you? Is that why you’re so fucking mean all the time? Because Louis looks at me in ways that you’ve never been looked at before?”

Her calm exterior is cracking. She raises her chin, and her hands are balled into fists in her lap. “At least I’m going to Heaven.”

Harry snorts, closing his eyes again. “Yeah. Okay. You tell yourself that.”

Neither of them say anything for a long time. A long, long time. It’s probably nearing fifteen minutes when Harry starts to cough again, and he turns on his side, facing away from his mom as he coughs into his arm. It feels like he’s going to break a fucking rib by the end of this from coughing so hard. Once he’s done, he pulls away to see that there’s mucus on his coat now, which is. . . great. He’ll have to hand-wash it next time he goes to the club to shower. 

“Are you taking any medication?” Anne asks, and she sounds distant, like she’s only asking because she has to. 

Harry rests his cheek against his arm, avoiding the wet patch. “Yeah. I’m on antibiotics.”

“And they aren’t helping?”

“No, they are. Just. Not as much as I feel like they should be.”

Tears randomly float to his eyes, and he rubs his cheek against his coat, trying to soothe himself. He feels small, suddenly. So childish. Kind of like he did after he was punched and Josh was taking care of him. 

“I’m okay,” he says shakily. “I’ll be okay.”

“What did the doctor say?”

Harry shrugs. “Come back if the antibiotics don’t work.”

“And will you?”

“What’s the point?” he asks. 

“What do you mean, Harry?” And now she sounds sad, like she’s trying to understand, and Harry resists the urge to wipe at his eyes. He doesn’t want her knowing he’s upset. 

The plan quickly backfires, because when he replies, his voice shows how raw he’s feeling. “I can’t afford it. I can’t -- I’ll go back and they’ll tell me the same thing they did last time, that I need an x-ray and a CT scan and that’s almost a grand, and then I’ll say I can’t afford it and have to pay seventy-five dollars for just showing up. There’s no _point._ ” 

She’s quiet for about a minute before she sighs loudly. “Let me take you,” she says reluctantly. “I can pay for the scans and you can pay me back later.”

“No. I don’t want anything from you.”

He regrets denying that as soon as it’s out of his mouth. It’s stupid. Nobody else would ever offer him something like that, and if he doesn’t see a doctor, he’s probably not going to get any better. He’ll probably find a way to get much, much worse. And even though he’s not on good terms with Anne, that doesn’t mean he can’t accept things from her. He accepted her agreeing to take care of Addison because it was for the sake of his daughter; Addison needs both of her dads, alive and healthy.

“Harry,” she says sternly. “Stop it. Let me help.”

A tiny whimper escapes from his throat as he nods. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay. Please.”

“And I want you to get tested for STDs. Both of you.”

Harry rolls his eyes and tears fall out, but, “Okay. Fine.”

He hears her stand, and he tucks his face further into his arm. He doesn’t want the tears on his face to be seen by her. 

“We’ll get you taken care of, Harry,” she says, and then she walks inside, shutting the door softly behind her. As soon as it feels safe to, he lets out a quiet cry. 

-

Anne insists on taking him to the doctor’s the following day, so Louis gets his shift covered by someone else and they meet her at a doctor’s office. A proper doctor’s office; not an urgent care, not a rundown looking hospital, a doctor’s office. The kind Harry hasn’t stepped foot in since the last time he went to get his yearly check-up when he was barely seventeen. And he’s beyond nervous, so he holds onto Louis’ hand tightly. 

Anne’s waiting for them by the entrance, and she’s alone. Obviously he didn’t expect her to take Addison out of school to go to the doctors with him, it’s just. He misses her so much, all of the time. 

Anne takes one long hard look at their intertwined hands and doesn’t say anything about it. “Okay,” she says, standing up. “Let’s go.”

The appointment goes over smoothly. Harry feels like a fraud, but the doctor doesn’t seem to think they look out of place. She treats them normally, and she doesn’t even get too bothered by Anne repeatedly inputting her opinion where it’s not needed. Harry gets the tests, both the CT scan and the x-ray, and he hates it. He absolutely hates it. But he’s not fucking five, he can handle it without panicking, so he forces himself to remain calm the entire time. They are there for what feels like forever, and there’s a lot of waiting, and the three of them don’t really talk, but Louis is always touching him in some way when the doctor’s gone. Hand on his knee, his shoulder, in his; he’s always right there, and it makes Harry feel loads better. 

After a long wait, the doctor comes back in with his test results and tells him he has an abscess in his right lung, and immediately, _immediately,_ Louis scoots his chair over so he can hold Harry’s hand. 

“Is that a tumor?” Harry asks, beyond petrified. 

“No,” Dr. Leahy says. “No, not at all. An abscess is a cavity in your chest filled with fluid from the infection. It’s probably why you’ve been feeling so bad for so long.”

“How do we treat it?” Louis asks. He’s rubbing his thumb back and forth over Harry’s hand, and it gives him something else to focus on that isn’t the consistent anxiety flowing through his body. 

“Antibiotics and a lot of rest,” she says. “The antibiotic he’s on now probably isn’t the best in treating the abscess, so we’ll switch that and get you onto an antibiotic that’ll be more suited to help. Since the cavity isn’t that large, we won’t need to do any draining or surgery or anything like that. But it’s important that you take care of yourself now so we don’t have to talk about any of that in the future.”

Harry bites down on his bottom lip roughly before releasing it. “How long will it take to heal?”

“Three to eight weeks.”

Harry lets out a weak laugh. “I have to work. I don’t have three to eight weeks.”

“You can still work,” Dr. Leahy says. “Just take it easy. Don’t work too hard. Make sure you’re sleeping enough and eating healthily. And if you still feel poorly, you need to come back to see me, okay? You waited a long time. There could have been some complications.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” she says, smiling brightly. “Is there anything else I can do for you today?”

There’s an awkward pause as he makes eye contact with Anne, who raises her eyebrows at him expectantly. He lets out a huff before turning back to the doctor and smiling drily. “Would it be possible to be tested for any STIs? Just a routine check-up. For the both of us.” He shrugs and glances at his mom again. “Or maybe all three of us.”

Anne narrows her eyes at him. “Harry Edward Styles,” she hisses. 

“I don’t know what you’re up to,” he says, shrugging again. Now that he’s made it entirely uncomfortable for everyone, he decides not to subject the doctor to anymore unnecessary torment. “I’m kidding. Just me and him, please.”

“Of course,” she says, laughing. “We can do that. Are there any issues I should know about? Any sores or warts or anything like that?”

And God, Harry would be so angry if he wasn’t so satisfied with how uncomfortable it’s making his mom. “Nope,” he says. “Last I checked, we’re both clean.”

Louis nods, squeezing Harry’s hand, probably telling him to chill out. 

“Okay. I’ll get a nurse in here to help out two out with that.”

When she leaves, Anne glares at him. “Is that really necessary, acting like that?”

“Yes,” he says simply, and he leaves it at that. 

Harry and Louis agree to the standard cheek swap, blood test and the urine test, but as soon as the nurse asks them if they want a physical exam, too, Harry says no. 

“Harry,” Anne warns, and Harry scoffs at her. 

“I’m twenty-four years old,” he snaps. “If I don’t want someone touching my dick, they’re not going to touch my dick.” And these poor staff members don’t deserve such a difficult patient, and he’s being completely out of line, but he can’t help himself or bring himself to care. “Unless you have a male nurse,” he says, and immediately, Anne raises her hand and says that’s enough and that will be all for today. 

As they make their way to the parking lot, Louis grabs his hand and Anne squints at him. 

“That wasn’t very appropriate, Harry.”

Harry stares straight forward. “I don’t care. I did it, didn’t I? You didn’t say I had to be nice about it.”

She stops him right in front of the door, a hand held in front of him. “Knock it off with the attitude. You’re still my son.”

Harry’s more than ready to bite back at that, but Louis tugs on his hand and sets a hand on his back. “You both need to stop,” Louis says. “We don’t have to like each other here. This isn’t about any of us, it’s about Addison.”

“He treats me with zero respect,” Anne says. Louis scoffs. 

“It’s almost like you made him hate who he is and launched him into a world of poverty,” Louis says, and then smiles bitterly. “I have no interest in revisiting the past here, nor do I care enough to try and change your beliefs, but you have to at least acknowledge you screwed up his entire life.”

“ _You_ did that,” she argues. 

“I did not,” Louis replies calmly. Too calmly. Harry doesn’t like it; he likes it better when Louis’ being mean to his mom, too. “If it wasn’t me, it would have been someone else. A different boy. And you might not like me much, but you should realize how differently things could have gone for him. I’m not a prick. I’m not a perv. I’m the type of person who takes in _your_ screwed up daughter’s kid and raises her as my own. You didn’t have any idea where you were sending him off to, and you didn’t care.”

Anne frowns. “He made his choice.”

“No, he didn’t,” Louis says, and Harry shakes his head. 

“Yeah, I did,” Harry disagrees. “I made my choice. I chose Louis. I’m sure if I came crawling on your doorstep, talking about Jesus and apologizing, you probably would have taken me back. But I chose Louis over you. I chose a shitty life over what you could have given me. But I didn’t want you if I couldn’t have him, because it shouldn’t have been a choice in the first place. He loved me. You didn’t.”

He pulls Louis to a different door, one that his mother isn’t standing in front of, and they walk outside together. As they walk to the car, he mulls over his words, and even if he doesn’t completely agree with them -- he really didn’t have a choice -- he hopes that they hurt her the way he wanted them to. He’s not malicious. He’s not a bad person. But he’s also not a push-over; he’s not going to play nice with his mom when there is no point. So long as he’s with Louis, there won’t be a point in trying with her. And _that_ is a choice he gets to make. 

-

They don’t see Addison for a week after that. Neither of them are in a rush to see Anne, and by default, that means they can’t see their daughter. It’s only a week, though, and then they decide they should probably stop by. Before they head over, they stop at the health clinic to pick up their STI results.

“This is your last opportunity to tell me you’re cheating on me and I have some gnarly case of crabs,” Harry says as he rips open his results. He knows they’ll all be negative, but he figures he should check anyway. 

Louis grunts out a laugh. “Yeah, I’ve been messing with your boys at the club, sorry to tell you like this.” 

As Harry reads over his results -- negative, negative, negative, negative -- Louis does, too, and Louis gasps quietly. 

“I have syphilis,” he says, clearly lying, and Harry hits him in the arm and tells him to shut up. They put their results back in their envelopes and Louis starts to drive. As he does, Harry lets out a quiet laugh. 

“Do you think my mom will accuse us of faking the results?”

Louis rolls his eyes and sighs. “God, I hope not. I would rather die than going back and getting retested with you and your mom. Like a bunch of little kids.” He’s only joking, because he blindly reaches over to pat Harry’s head. Still, maybe he’s right. Maybe it isn’t fair on Louis to purposefully go out of his way to irritate his mom; with Louis, he only makes subtle jabs that Anne can only roll her eyes at. With Harry, he’s been basically firing shots loud enough for the whole city to hear. 

“I’ll chill out,” he promises, grabbing Louis’ hand and kissing the back of it. “Promise. She did take me to the doctor’s, so I guess I should be less of an asshole.”

The antibiotics are helping more than the last ones. Not as much as he thought they would, but he definitely feels a difference already. His chest feels lighter, someone. But he still does have an ugly cough, so whenever his boss stops by at the laundromat, he hides in the bathroom whenever he feels a cough coming on. He has to get a second job, they are both painfully aware of that, but Harry has to heal before he throws himself into something else. Even he knows that. 

Anne looks irritated when she opens the door to them, ruining the pattern of seeming less and less annoyed every time they visit. So Harry raises his hands in surrender and says, “I won’t be a jerk today.”

“Fine,” she says. “Neither will I, then.” She gives Louis a stern look, and Louis just smiles and holds out the tests. She takes them and opens Harry’s first.

“I have syph, watch out,” Louis says, and Harry laughs and shoves him forward so they can get inside. Anne shuts the door behind them, and he’s about to ask where Addison is when the back door is yanked open and she comes tumbling inside with a cat in her hands. 

“I think he’s an outdoor cat, love,” Harry tells her, coming to give her a hug. He’s pretty sure he’s not contagious anymore, since he’s been taking antibiotics for a while. She puts the cat down and wraps her arms tightly around his neck. 

“It’s a girl, and I don’t care. It’s mean to leave her outside. It _rained_ yesterday and they were outside.”

Harry smiles at her and pats her back. “Okay, love. Whatever you say.” He used to be the same way, but it was more so because he was worried they wouldn’t come back home or they’d get hurt and he’d never know what happened to them. Anne must be thinking the same thing, because when he glances at her, she’s smiling. 

“Your dad was the same way,” she tells Addison. “But like I told him when he was a kid: the ones who want to stay inside, stay inside, and the ones who want to go outside will find a way out no matter what.”

Addison pouts and rests her head against Harry’s shoulder. “Are you still sick, Daddy?” she asks quietly. 

“No, baby. Not really.”

“You still sound congested,” Anne points out, and he turns to look at her. 

“It’s getting better,” he says. “Really, it is. It might take a while, but it’s getting better.”

She smiles, and it looks genuine. “Good. That’s good.”

Like the last time, Addison wants to watch a movie. It’s the sequel to the last one, so he supposes it makes sense. Harry and Louis sit next to each other, and Addison sits between Louis and Anne. It’s. . . a little weird, not feeling intensely angry or uncomfortable here anymore. He still doesn’t like being around his mom, but it’s not this unbearable, terrifying thing anymore. She doesn’t have anything that she can take away from him now. 

About twenty minutes into the movie, Harry shifts as quietly and slowly as he can so he’s leaning into Louis. Anne doesn’t look at him, so he waits a few minutes before dropping his head against Louis’ shoulder. He doesn’t want to piss off his mom, but he also doesn’t want him barely cuddling with his boyfriend to be enough to piss her off. He doesn’t see if she glares at them or not, because his eyes slip shut almost as soon as he’s resting against Louis. Right before he falls asleep, he feels Louis put his hand on his knee. 

When he wakes up, the movie is over and Anne’s in the kitchen doing dishes. He doesn’t know where Addison is, but he figures it’s okay because Louis’ still next to him. He burrows into the warmth of him, and it’s peaceful for a few seconds until Harry has to cough about a gazillion times. He sits up, more awake now. He’s still sleepy, and the way Louis’ gently rubbing his lower back makes him want to go back to sleep, but before he can convince himself into believing that’s a good idea, Anne comes into the living room. 

Louis’ hand freezes on his back. 

“Louis, can you go tell Addison to start her homework?” Anne asks. “It’s spelling, so she’s probably going to need some help.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Louis agrees. He squeezes Harry’s waist before standing up and leaving the room, and then it’s just Harry and his mom staring at each other. She doesn’t say anything until Louis’ steps up the stairs fades out. 

“Come talk with me at the kitchen table,” she says, and before he can respond, she’s turning around and going to the kitchen table. He sits for about thirty seconds, just because he can, before standing and following her to the table. He sits across from her, and it feels eerily similar to the first time he sat with her over two months ago. 

She’s tapping on the handle of the mug in front of her, and Harry stares at that instead of looking at her.

“I want you to stay here,” she says, and Harry doesn’t look up. 

“Not without Louis,” he tells her, tone bored. 

She sighs. “Harry -- ”

“Not without Louis,” he repeats, and he pushes himself up to stand, but she tells him to stay before he can get very far. He doesn’t stand, but he stays ready to push himself up off the chair. 

“I was going to say that I understand that your loyalty lies with Louis,” she says, and she seems. . . reserved. She clears her throat. “We both know that I don’t agree with it. And if I could change things, I would, but it doesn’t seem like I can. I don’t want you living in a car, especially when you’re sick.”

Harry stays quiet, but his heartbeat is starting to quicken. She’s not going to tell them they can stay here, together. She’s not. He needs to be realistic here. 

“I don’t regret kicking you out,” she continues. “But I do understand that it left you in a bad position. I raised you to rely on me, and I. . . And then things turned out differently for us. I don’t think I quite thought about where you would go. I just thought you’d figure it out.”

“I did.”

“Right,” she says, nodding. “But living the way you have been isn’t sustainable. And it’s not. . . It’s not what I had hoped for you. I never had very high hopes for Gemma, but for you. . . I thought you were going to do great things.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows at her and shakes his head. “Don’t insult Gemma to make your point.”

“You know what I mean,” she says, and Harry resists the urge to tell her that no, he doesn’t. “I just think that I overestimated how much you could handle at eighteen. And Addison. . . Gemma told me she was going to hand her off to you, but I didn’t think she’d actually do it. I didn’t know you had a kid in the mix of that all.”

Harry shrugs. “We’ve done an okay job so far.”

“You have,” Anne agrees. “I think that it’s important for her to have a female influence -- ”

“Mom, stop.”

“I’m not saying anything negative, Harry, it’s just a fact. Kids need both a female and male influence, that’s a fact.”

Harry stares at her, pointedly silent. He’s not going to argue with her about this. 

“I want you to consider staying in the garage,” she says. 

“With Louis?” he asks, fully expecting her to say no. He’d bet his fucking life on it, and good thing he hadn’t, because his mother hesitantly nods. 

“With Louis,” she says. 

He feels so mad, suddenly. She’s messing with him, isn’t he? Or she’s luring him into staying, and she’ll kick Louis out or something. Something. Because this is -- that’s crazy. She wouldn’t do that for him, not after everything. 

“Are you kidding?” he asks, tone cold.

“No.”

He narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“Addison needs her parents around. And I want you to heal.”

“And then what? You’re going to kick us out when I get healthy?”

She shakes her head. “No. And then,” and she looks pained as she says it, “and then we’ll talk about me helping you get an apartment. A nice one. And you will owe me every cent back, don’t you think I’m not keeping track, but. . . yes, that’s what I think will happen next. If you follow my rules.”

Of course there’s a catch. 

“Rules?”

“I want you and Louis going to church every week,” she says, and he rolls his eyes. “No, Harry. Listen to me. I’ve been taking Addison every week and she enjoys it. She likes the music.”

Harry glares at her. “We didn’t tell you that you could do that.”

“A child shouldn’t be deprived from faith.”

Harry stares at her for a minute before sitting back in the chair. “Fine,” he says. “Me and Louis go to church once a week. That it?”

“You have to go Confession and talk to the priest about your sin.”

It pulls a bitter smile out of him. “My sin? Me being gay, you think a priest is going to care about that? You do know that priests touching children is, like, an epidemic here, right?”

“That’s a myth,” she tells him, waving him off. “But yes, Father Williams would like to hear about your relationship with men. He might be able to help you.”

“Okay,” Harry says. “So how far into detail should I go, then? Should I tell him about how Louis -- ”

“I’m doing you a massive favor here,” she snaps, pointing a finger at him. “You will not sit here and talk to me about what you and he do behind closed doors.”

“Fine,” Harry snaps back, because maybe she’s right. Maybe he’s being ungrateful. But he has every right to be angry with her. “Church once a week and one confessional with the priest. Fine. But if you think you’re going to turn me straight, you’re wrong.”

She sighs. “Church once a week and a confessional each. And you have to stop using vulgar language around me. And you and Louis can’t do anything. . . sexual while you’re here.”

“What, are you going to babysit us at night?”

She gives him a look. “Harry.”

“There’s no way you’d be able to tell what we do, so fine. Sure. Let’s go with we won’t do anything while we’re here.”

“I just don’t want to hear about it,” she amends, and it’s a baby step in the right direction. The babiest of baby steps, but a step nonetheless. 

“That’s fair.”

“And you can’t work at that strip club anymore.”

His cheeks burn. He didn’t realize she knew it was a strip club. “Fine,” he agrees. 

“And you’ll be tested for STDs every month.”

He scoffs. “Like hell I’m paying for that.”

“I’ll pay for it,” she says, and Harry shrugs. 

“Fine. I don’t care. It’s a waste of time and money, considering STDs don’t appear out of thin air and me and Louis are both clean, but fine. I don’t care.” She doesn’t immediately follow up with another rule, so he raises his eyebrow. “Is that it?”

She shakes her head. “You have to start doing the yard work for Mrs. Walker again. It’s killing my back.”

It pulls a genuine smile out of him. He likes being helpful in ways he can, especially for people who deserve it. “Okay,” he agrees. “And I can. . . Me and Louis can do the yard work around here, too.”

“Okay then. Do we have a deal?”

Church once a week, a ten minute talk with a priest, STD checks and some yard work in exchange for a place to stay on the same property as his daughter? He laughs and nods easily. “Deal.”


	2. chapter two

There’s no point in stalling it, so Louis and Harry move into the garage that night. Part of him fears it’ll be too cold and dungeon-like, but he forgot that his mom is well-off and nothing in her house is dungeon-like. It’s nice, and it’s big enough for them, and it’s definitely bigger than their car. Anne already has a bed in here that he recognizes as Gemma’s old bed and a mini fridge with some water and some snacks. She made it clear that she wasn’t going to buy them groceries or cook for them, so it must just be a welcome home gift. 

Louis, who’s already opened the package of fruit from the fridge, sits on the bed and gives him a look. “She was awfully sure we would say yes.”

Harry scoffs. “Yeah, ‘cause we have so many other options.” He sits down next to Louis and lets out a small sigh of relief. He looks around and smiles. “I don’t think she’s going to ever come in here, either. She’s far too scared of seeing us fucking.”

“Well, at least she only put one bed in here. I assumed she’d be a jerk and put two, giving us a not-so-subtle message.”

Harry nods. That’s true. She very well could have done that, and she didn’t. He supposes she deserves some credit for that. 

“Does it make me a bad person if I kind of want to fuck just to spite her?” Harry asks, already crowding into Louis’ space. Louis grins and shakes his head as he sets the fruit on top of the fridge. 

“If it does, I don’t really care.”

They do it quickly and quietly, partly because they don’t want to piss Anne off so early on and partly because they’re both paranoid Addison is going to come looking for them. She was ecstatic to hear that they were staying here, although a little confused by them staying in the garage. 

“Do I sleep in the garage, too?” she asked, and Harry shook his head. 

“No, bug. Just us. You stay up in my old room.”

“But what if I want to?”

“Then I would tell you that you’re out of luck ‘cause that’s not happening.” He kissed the tip of her nose and she squirmed away, giggling. 

The relief doesn’t hit Harry until hours later, while he’s laying in bed under thick, warm blankets and staring at the roof of the garage, listening to the bugs outside. Louis’ pressed against him, most of his weight on top of Harry; he had rolled over in the middle of the night and kind of just flopped into him. It’s reassuring, though. Knowing that he can close his eyes and still have proof that Louis’ right there beside him. 

It’s almost hard to come to terms with, Anne allowing them to stay here. She didn’t have to do that, nor does it seem like she really wanted to. And it’s hard to imagine that, after all this time and all the hurt she has caused him, that she is currently the only one in this world helping them. It feels cruel almost. Like she’s the showrunner of his life, and what she can give him she can easily take away. Harry will never feel secure here, he doesn’t think. How could he? She could kick them out, all three of them, in seconds and not think twice about it. That’s unsettling. He doesn’t like giving power to someone who can easily abuse it. But he can’t deny that this -- being in a proper bed, in some sort of housing, near his daughter -- is about the best thing anyone could have given him. When Liam had done the same thing for them, it was a blessing, but this is a miracle. 

Maybe the hardest part to deal with right now is the guilt. He has spent years loathing his mother, and now she has helped them out so much. So much. And while it might be true that she’s only helping the hurt that she caused, and maybe that doesn’t mean as much, but it still means something. It still means that she must care about Harry, even if it’s the tiniest fraction, and he didn’t realize that before. He thought he was dead to her. And he almost wishes that he was, because he doesn’t particularly like that she seemingly cared about him when she kicked him out. It doesn’t make any sense to him, but maybe it doesn’t have to. Maybe he can accept her help without divorcing it from the hurt. He doesn’t know, and he probably won’t find an answer for that tonight, but for right now, that’s enough. It has to be. 

-

Getting a foot back into Addison’s daily life is refreshing and means a lot to him. There was a bit of a fight at first, when Harry and Louis had gone into the house to get Addison ready for school and Anne insisted that she would do it herself, but when Louis told her that she couldn’t expect them to not take care of their daughter when she was so close. 

“I thought that was what you would want, us being responsible,” he said. “Or would you rather us just sit back and lounge around while you took care of our daughter for us?”

She didn’t explicitly agree to it, but she didn’t tell them to get back outside again. She did, however, constantly tell them that they were doing things wrong, that she didn’t like her hair pulled back in a braid like that and she didn’t like those shoes. Harry was trying to keep the peace, he really was, but after a while, he had to snap at her and remind her that they did this on their own for years. She didn’t lay off, and by the time that he gave up and told her fine, she can take Addison to school if she really wants to, he had a pounding headache and was so irritated that he could barely keep it away from Addison. As soon as they left, Harry blew Louis in the kitchen and held his hips against the counter and Louis kept telling him it was a bad idea until he couldn’t find it in him to protest anymore. 

And yeah, it’s disrespectful. That’s kind of the whole fucking point. And yes, it’s irresponsible considering it could cost them the garage that they’ve literally only slept in for one night, but something about his mom just does his head in and makes him not care about the consequences. 

Once he’s finished, Louis pulls him off his knees and lets out a breathy laugh. His cheeks are flushed, and it satisfies Harry deeply. “I’ll do you back, but in the garage, okay?” Louis says. He brushes his fingers over Harry’s jaw. “I know you don’t like this, and I don’t blame you at all, but don’t do things that’ll get her super pissed off, okay? Push her buttons, get her annoyed, I’m sure as hell going to do that, but don’t -- don’t lose this for us, okay?”

Harry frowns. “That’s a weird way to say thank you.” He knows Louis’ right, though, so he grabs his hand and tugs him out to the garage. Thankfully, Louis doesn’t bring it up again.

-

For the most part, Harry and Louis stay out of Anne’s way, and she stays out of theirs. Harry and Louis get used to Anne’s schedule, and they know that she goes out for her nightly walk at seven p.m. after dinner, so they either shower then or when she takes Addison to school. They save laundry for Sundays, when she goes to church and they have time to do it without having to go in and out of the house while she’s home. For the most part, they stay in the garage, although they always go inside to see Addison when she gets home from school and before bed. They always leave the garage door open when one of them is home so she can come talk to them if they want, and whenever Addison’s outside, they come out to play with her. It’s not exactly ideal, but it’s better than seeing her once a week. 

Harry doesn’t want to talk to his mom outside of what is necessary, and she feels the same way about it. She does, however, make sure she asks them how church was every time they come back. It’s like she sits there by the window and waits, because most of the time they don’t even make it to the back yard before she’s right there, looking hopeful. 

Church isn’t too bad. It’s really not. Is it boring? Yes. Would Harry rather not carve time from their work schedules to go? Of course. Especially since he plans on getting a second job here shortly; he already works five days a week at the dry cleaner’s, and now he can’t work Tuesday mornings, because that’s when they go to church. They feel out of place and gawked at, even though he’s pretty sure not every person in the world sees two men together and automatically assumes they’re dating. It’s hard not to make it obvious that they aren’t religious because they don’t know any of the words to the songs or the prayers. Louis half-listens, half-day dreams, and he’s not really bothered by it, but Harry feels like every time the priest opens his mouth, he’s getting scolded. That, somehow, every word he is is directed at Harry and Harry only, and somehow everyone else here knows it. It’s not true, he knows it’s not, but it makes him antsy and he tries his hardest to block out the words. 

It’s been five weeks living at Anne’s, and they still haven’t gone to Confession yet. Harry gets away with it for a few weeks by telling his mom that he wants to get to know the priest before he tells him anything personal, but eventually that excuse reaches its expiration date. 

“It’s okay to be ashamed,” she tells him softly, and Harry rolls his eyes. He just came in to get himself some water because, even though his lungs are mostly cleared up now according to the x-ray he got last week, he still has an infrequent cough and his throat got dry. He was just about to go back outside when his mom came into the room and asked him why he hasn’t gone to Confession yet. 

“I’m not ashamed,” Harry tells her. “I don’t care that I like guys. It doesn’t make me any different.”

He thinks back to his conversation with Liam and how he said the exact opposite of that. It’s hard to know how he feels about it; sometimes he couldn’t care less, and sometimes he hates himself so much that he feels like he could pop with it. 

“You might feel differently after you talk with Father Williams. Which, by the way, is a condition of you staying here, in case you have forgotten.”

Harry stares at her blanky before sighing. “I’ll see if he’s available next Tuesday.”

She smiles at him. “Good.”

“But you can’t ask him what we talked about,” he says sternly. “You can’t meddle.”

“All I’ll do is ask if he spoke to the both of you. I won’t ask about what.”

He rolls his eyes again and mumbles something that he doesn’t even know what it’s supposed to be before leaving. When he gets to the garage, he plops into bed and sighs. It’s so boring, waiting for Louis. It’s like his day doesn’t truly start until Louis gets home. 

-

“I haven’t been to a confession in so long,” Harry mumbles to Louis, who’s driving them to the church on a shitty Tuesday morning. He’s more than anxious, but Louis doesn’t seem too bothered. He doesn’t care what some priest thinks about him, and neither does Harry, not really, but -- it’s going to be awkward. Really awkward. Harry’s not going to know any of the words and he hasn’t quite figured out the right way to say he’s gay. He hasn’t even decided if he’s going to mention that; his mother will never find out if he doesn’t. 

“You’ll be fine,” Louis says. “You used to do this, what, once a year? And you made it through it every time.”

“But it’s different now.”

Louis shakes his head. “It’s not. You were gay, then, too. And you knew it. You hid it then just like you can do now. He’s not going to know.”

“Lying is a sin, too.”

“Yeah, if you believe in God,” Louis says, turning to look at him briefly. “Have you gone religious on me all the sudden?”

“No. It’s just. I don’t know. I feel stupid.”

Louis snorts. “Believe me, so do I.” He reaches over to squeeze Harry’s knee, his eyes still firm on the road. “I’ll go first, okay? And I’ll only be in there for, like, ten minutes. And then you’ll go, and you can take however you want, but no matter what, it’s going to be fine.”

Harry stares down at his hands, and then at the hand on his knee. There’s nothing more frustrating than having to question yourself. “Are you going to tell him that you’re with a man?” he asks quietly, still looking down at Louis’ hand. 

“No.” Louis says it so easily, so thoughtlessly. 

“Why? ‘Cause you’re, like. Ashamed, or whatever.”

“No,” Louis says again, just as breezily. “Because it’s none of his business. Because it’s too early in the morning to have someone who doesn’t know me tell me all the ways he thinks i’m screwed up. Because there are a lot of things I’m ashamed of, and you have never been one of them.”

Harry sighs and leans back in the chair, pretending like his stomach doesn’t flip at that. It makes him feel loved and special, while also making him feel guilty because he’s sometimes ashamed of his sexuality, and that doesn’t mean he’s ashamed of Louis. 

“You know, when I told my mom I was bisexual, she, like, didn’t care at all,” Louis says, squeezing Harry’s knee. “She laughed and said she already knew, and I was -- that’s good, obviously. In hindsight, I’m not complaining, but when it happened, I was a little upset that she was kind of dismissive about it. Like, we didn’t really talk about it. And then I met you and your whole load of problems, and I felt stupid for feeling upset about how my mom took it. And, like. . . I guess what I’m trying to say is that it makes sense that it’s more complicated in your head. Don’t compare yourself to me. I never had the one person I had to look up to tell me I was a disgrace, so. If I’m more nonchalant about it, that’s why. Not because you’re being dramatic or something.”

That makes sense, it does. And it does soothe some part of Harry’s worries, mostly assuring him that Louis doesn’t take offense to Harry’s relationship with his sexuality. That Louis understands, because of course he does, Louis always understands. 

Harry grabs Louis’ hand off of his knee, holding him tightly. He’ll have to let go the second they pull into the church parking lot, but it’s okay. 

Louis, true to his world, spends almost exactly ten minutes with the priest before coming back out, looking unfazed. When he spots Harry, who’s been sitting at the first pew staring down at his hands the entire time, he rolls his eyes and comes over to him. 

“God, does he talk a lot,” Louis mumbles, sitting down next to Harry and bumping his shoulder with his. “It was no big deal, Haz, really. Granted, I didn’t bring up anything to do with you-know-what, but. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

Harry nods, although he doesn’t fully believe that. He sits there, still not daring to look up from his hands. Sometimes, Harry doesn’t care about being sat in a church, nothing about it seeming powerful. But right now, Harry can’t bring himself to look at the statue of Jesus, far too certain he’ll catch on fire right here if he does. 

“I’d kiss you right now if I could, just so you know,” Louis whispers, and that makes Harry genuinely smile. He looks at him and nods again. 

“Ditto,” he says, and then he stands up. There’s no point in drawing any of this out. It’s ten minutes of his life; he can do this. 

He sits outside of the room, in front of the screen that protects his identity. It’s a little pointless, considering Louis and an older lady praying in the back are the other three people inside the church right now and Father Williams saw them walk in. But still, Harry feels far more comfortable out here. It’s the principle of it. 

He knows what he’s supposed to say -- “ _Bless me, Father, for I have sinned”_ \-- but he can’t bring himself to say that, so he settles for, “Um. Hi.”

“Hello,” Father Williams says. “What brings you here today?”

Harry frowns. “To confess, I guess.”

“Confess what?”

“My sins?”

Father Williams lets out a good-natured laugh. “Of course. But what sins do you wish to acknowledge today?”

 _I’m gay, I’m gay, I’m gay._ “Um,” he says. “Wrath. Greed, envy. Lust.” He inwardly rolls his eyes at himself. That’s over half the list there. If those seven sins were really do deady, it’s a miracle he’s alive right now. 

“Okay. Tell me about that.”

“About which one?”

“Maybe start with wrath, since it’s what you mentioned first. How do you think you’ve displayed wrath in your life?”

About every conversation he’s had with his mom in the last few months plays in his head at once. It’s overwhelming, and he has to take a steadying breath. He has his hands underneath his thighs, trying to make sure they don’t start to shake. “Me and my mom don’t have a very good relationship. We’ve, um. We’ve recently got back in touch, and it’s hard not to be angry with her.”

“Patience and empathy are key to overcoming wrath.”

It sounds like something that would be written on some keychain at the dollar store or something. “Okay,” he says, a little awkwardly. “And, um. I don’t have a lot of money, so I guess that’s where the greed comes in. The envy, too. It doesn’t seem very fair that some people get everything, whilst others get nothing.”

“You have life,” Father Williams says. “That’s the biggest gift of all.”

Harry can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. He’s thankful for the divider between them. 

“Gratitude is important, son,” he says. “Spend less time thinking about what you don’t have and more time thanking God for what you do.”

Listening to him talk is infuriating, somehow. It doesn’t seem right, him having all the answers. Nobody has all the answers. No matter what Harry says, Father Williams is ready to regurgitate one of the thousands of phrases he’s been taught, and that’s just supposed to be good enough. It’s not. 

Harry stays quiet, trying to get his thoughts in order. Father Williams must take that as a sign that he needs help in progressing the conversation, because he asks, “And the lust? You mentioned lust before. Do you wish to tell me about that?”

_Gay gay gay gay gay --_

“Sometimes I. . . use sex as a means of revenge, I guess.” And God, that makes him sound absolutely awful out of context. In context, it’s not great, but like that, it sounds criminal, almost. He tries to explain, but there’s no easy way to explain that. 

“How do you mean?”

Harry closes his eyes. “My mom doesn’t like it that I’m, um. Sexually active. And when I’m mad at her, I feel like I turn to sex as a way to punish her, somehow. I don’t know.”

“Oh, I see. Purity is important, and I’m sure that it’s a value your mother holds dearly. She must only want the same for you.”

Harry goes quiet again. He’s not sure what to say anymore, or if he should bring it up. He’s pretty sure he’ll regret it if he doesn’t, but there’s always other times. He could always come back, he doesn’t have to do this now. But he’s already here. He’s already confessing for his sins, he might as well add this one to the list. 

He opens his eyes and stares at the cross on the wall. “Do you think being gay is a sin, Father?”

The words sit in the air for about a minute before Father William answers. He can’t offer some bullshit answer to that, can he? Or maybe he can. Harry’s probably not the first to ask him that. 

“I think. . . I think God loves everybody.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows and turns his head to look through the holes in the divider. He can’t make out Father Williams’ face, can’t see if he’s joking or lying or angry. 

“But you’re a priest,” he says slowly, confused. 

“Yes, I am.”

Harry’s so, so confused. He closes his eyes again briefly before looking up at the ceiling. “Doesn’t the Bible say some shi -- stuff about people like me, though? Just last week you said -- I was in here and you said that it was a ‘detestable act.’ _I_ was here, _you_ said that.”

“I am familiar with the words of the Bible, son. It is my responsibility to share them. It is our responsibility as God’s children to interpret them.”

“What other way is there to interpret that?” he asks coldly, still staring at the ceiling. 

Father Williams doesn’t respond right away. “I think. . . I think we understand each other more now. There are many things we were taught in the Bible to fear that no longer are a threat to us. And maybe. . . and maybe God doesn’t approve of homosexuality, but I don’t believe He’d condemn it. God doesn’t condemn good people. He’s merciful. Wouldn’t He understand that we’re all imperfect, as He’s the one created us?”

Harry doesn’t take the time to process that. He’s not here to get God’s approval, he’s here to get his own. “There are people here who wouldn’t agree with that,” he says. “There are people who would read those verses and want me dead. What would you say to them?”

“‘You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against the sons of your own people, but you shall love your neighbor as yourself.’”

Harry squints, trying to place that. It takes him a minute, but he recalls where it’s from. “Leviticus,” he says. 

Father Williams Sounds pleased. “19:18. You know your scripture.”

“Not really,” Harry admits. “Just some stuck around, I guess.”

He remembers being seventeen, sitting in bed and Googling things on his phone, trying to find things in the Bible he could use to argue with his mom. He never had the guts to use any of them, but he wanted to. 

“There are people in your church that don’t share your same viewpoints,” he says. “How do you stand that? Doesn’t it upset you?”

“No. Everyone interprets the Bible differently.”

“But it’s _your_ church. Shouldn’t you have the final say?”

Father Williams laughs. “Son, only God has the final say.”

They finish the meeting a few minutes later, and Harry leaves feeling. . . satisfied. Not any closer to God -- he really isn’t religious anymore -- not any more or any less ashamed of himself, just satisfied. It takes him the entire ride home to realize that the only reason why he’s satisfied is because Father Williams, the man who his mother thought would save him from himself, is on his side, not hers. And she doesn’t know that, and he won’t tell her. He’ll keep that victory hidden close to his chest. 

Like always, they only manage to open the back gate when Anne comes rushing out of the house, asking them how church was. “How was it? Don’t you feel stronger in your faith?”

“Sure, Mom,” Harry says, making sure not to let his strength on Louis’ hand waver as they walk into the backyard. 

She sighs. “Did you at least learn something?”

“Yeah,” he answers, and it’s honest. She beams, and for the first time in a while, Harry can resist the urge to ruin it.

-

Four weeks later, Harry has a second job. He applied for a position at a grocery store a while ago, and he never got a call back, so he called them last week using his mom’s phone to ask what happened with his application. They gave the usual bullshit excuse that the position has already been taken, and that they’re sorry and wish him well. Harry was a little bummed out, but it was whatever. He’s been rejected countless times by now. He didn't expect them to call him back three day later, and since it was his mom’s phone number, she told them he’d be right up for an interview the following day. He went, and now he’s the person who collects and cleans the carts. It’s a relatively easy job, and he’s thankful for it. 

What he’s not thankful for is the long hours and the back-to-back shifts. The day feels wasted when all he does is work, especially when he can only manage to stay awake for about an hour to talk with Louis before he’s passed out. It’s okay, but he misses Louis easily, and it gets him down. Some nights, when Louis works the night shift, he tries to stay up for him and he almost always fails. Like tonight, he falls asleep on Louis’ side of the bed with the light left on, so when he wakes up at 12:30, he can see the clock on the wall and the empty space beside him. 

He hates it when Louis works later than normal. It makes him so paranoid, especially after what happened the last time. So he pulls himself out of bed and quietly makes his way inside so he can make sure he stays awake for Louis. His mom won’t mind, he’s pretty sure. 

It’s 1:15 and Louis’ still not home when Anne comes into the kitchen. She pours herself a glass of water, and he tries not to move so he doesn’t alarm her. He probably looks like a crazy person, sitting in the dark like this. He didn’t want to wake anyone by turning on the light. 

She turns and sees him, and she makes a startled noise, holding her hand to her chest. “Jesus, Harry,” she says, turning on the light. “What are you doing awake? Didn’t you work two shifts today?”

Harry shrugs and sets his chin on his hand. “Louis’ not home yet. Figured I’d wait up for him in here.”

She gives him a sad look. “You’re worried about him,” she says, and Harry nods. He’s not afraid to admit that. “He’ll be fine, honey. I’m sure there’s just some man at the bar that won’t go home.”

For the first time, he doesn’t flinch or snap at the pet-name. He doesn’t particularly like it, but it’s okay. She’s trying. Really, she is. As the weeks pass, Harry swears he can see her rough exterior melting. She’s missed him. She won’t admit it, but she has. And Harry doesn’t know if that means she regrets what she did, but he’ll take what he can get. 

He’s not going to respond, until she sits with him at the table. He struggles with what to say before he decides that he doesn’t have to put so much thought into it. It’s just his mom. 

“A few years back, he was late from work and he ended up getting into a car crash. Addison was with him, too.” She looks alarmed, and he shakes his head. “It was fine, nobody got hurt. Louis’ car got totaled, but. I don’t know. It makes me paranoid now when he’s not home when he usually is.”

She nods slowly and doesn’t respond right away. Eventually, she smiles tightly. “You really care about him, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Harry says immediately. “Haven’t you figured that out by now?” He doesn’t say it meanly; she’s trying, and the least he could do is try, too. 

She sighs and wraps her hands tightly around the glass in front of her. “It’s just. . . different.”

Different. Not wrong. She didn’t say it was wrong. 

“I know you don’t -- um. I know you don’t like it, but we really do love each other.”

“I think I’m starting to see that,” she says quietly, and she doesn’t sound particularly happy about it. It’s okay.

Harry shifts in his seat and clears his throat. “When you kicked me out, he didn’t even hesitate to let me stay with him. And when we got Addison, he didn’t hesitate to say that we needed to be the ones to take care of her. And. . . and he really does take care of me. Whenever I’m sick or upset or lonely, he -- he’s always been there for me. Always.”

“Well, he did let you work at a strip club,” she points out. 

Harry lets out an uncomfortable laugh. “He didn’t want me to. He basically begged me not to. And he was really upset with me when I decided to do it anyway. But he -- he trusted me. He knew I would take care of myself. And he knew that he couldn’t control me. He knew that if he tried to, it wouldn’t work out well for him. And I always, _always,_ quit as soon as we were at a place where we didn’t desperately need a little extra money.”

“You still shouldn’t have done it.”

Harry shrugs. “It’s not necessarily something I’m proud of, but I did what I had to do to take care of my family.”

Neither of them say anything after that. There’s not really much for there to say. But as the minutes tick by, Harry becomes more and more anxious, and by the time they hear a car door slam outside and see headlights in the window, both of them let out a sound of relief. Harry gets up and goes out to the porch, and Louis comes over to him. 

“What are you doing awake?” he asks, kissing Harry’s forehead. Harry responds by wrapping his arms around Louis’ neck and holding him close, and Louis kisses the side of his head. “I know, it’s late. Michelle at work asked me to drive her home, and even though I didn’t want to, I said yes. She didn’t bother to tell me she lived forty minutes away until we were already in the car.”

Harry pulls away slightly so he can see Louis’ face. “Should’ve told her to fuck off.”

“Yeah, probably should’ve. Sorry I worried you.” He looks over Harry’s shoulder and Harry turns to see his mom standing behind the screen door. They pull away from each other instinctively. Anne gives them a smile, and it’s a little sad. 

“Goodnight, boys,” she says, and she sounds fond under the small layer of sadness. They give her a small wave before heading back to the garage. 

-

-

They spend a total of four months in Anne’s garage. By the end of it, it’s summer, Harry’s gotten a slight raise at the dry cleaner’s, Louis’ so close to wiggling his way into being assistant manager at the restaurant, and they find a way to get along with Anne properly. They’re at the point that they come inside for dinner every night now, because Anne invited them to after Harry ate dinner with her one night and they had a long, healthy talk about everything. Louis and Anne don’t despise each other anymore; some level of respect has built up. And Harry can still get snappy with his mom, and Anne can still get judgy with them, but it doesn’t feel like it’s coming from a place of hatred or anger anymore. 

Anne hugged him for the first time after that initial dinner they had together, and it was so awkward and uncomfortable and both of them squirmed away from it at the same time, but after that, it became somewhat of a regular thing. She has definitely missed him, and she definitely loves him still, and she gradually shows that more and more. Harry is more guarded with any sort of affection or forgiveness, but he occasionally forces himself to try as hard as she is. It’s just, every time that she makes a dig at their relationship, which she still does all the time, he remembers it every time she tries to be nice. 

Their stays get an expiration date on a Friday morning. Louis and Harry are both home from work, and they’re laying in bed, Louis flat on his back while Harry lays with his weight propped on his elbows, leaning over Louis slightly. They’re laughing about something when the door opens, and Harry assumes it’s Addison so he doesn’t pull back from Louis right away. He glances at the door, and it’s definitely not Addison, but his mother who’s looking at him with her hands folded in front of her and her lips pursed. They’re both in their boxers, but Louis at least has a shirt on, so Harry awkwardly sits up and puts the pillow over his lap. He can _feel_ how red he is. 

“Sorry, um,” Louis says. “You usually don’t come in here, is all. . . We, um. We weren’t doing anything.”

She smiles tightly. “It’s none of my business. Just, get dressed and come inside, okay?”

They both nod wordlessly, feeling too awkward to say anything. When she leaves, shutting the door, they look at each other. Louis laughs, and Harry groans. 

“Surprised she didn’t have a fucking stroke,” Harry says, getting out of bed. He grabs his shirt off the table and slides it on. “I feel like a stupid teenager.”

Louis, who’s pulling up his pants, glances at him. “Went a bit differently when we were teenagers, if I remember correctly.”

“True.”

“Shouldn’t have covered your junk, though,” Louis says, now fully dressed. He’s grinning. “She probably thought you were hiding a boner.”

“I _wasn’t_.”

Louis shrugs. “I doubt she thinks that.”

Harry grabs a pillow off the bed and throws it at him, hard, knowing that Louis’ going to be able to catch it. He does, and Harry grumbles under his breath as he pulls his pants on. They head inside, not before Harry shoves Louis as they walk out of the garage. Louis laughs and swats at his hands. 

Anne’s sitting at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. She smiles stiffly at them as they sit down, and Harry was too caught up on her walking in on them to worry about what this could be about. Now he’s worried. He presses his knee against Louis’, and Louis discreetly presses his knuckles against his thigh. 

Thankfully, she doesn’t beat around the bush. Simply, she says, “I think it’s time to start talking about that apartment.”

Oh. Okay. That’s. . . fine. It’s not like Harry wants to be living in his mom’s garage; if she’s willing to help them move, he’ll take it. Of course he’ll take it. It’s just odd, hearing good news. It doesn’t happen often. 

“Okay,” Louis says. “Me and Harry can go to the library and look for an apartment.”

Anne shakes her head. “That won’t be necessary. I already picked an apartment complex nearby. I talked to the landlord and they said it’d be fine if I co-signed all the papers and everything.”

“How much is rent?” Harry asks. He can’t tell if he’s irritated or not that she went ahead and did that, so he pushes it down. It doesn’t matter. 

“Don’t worry about it. I told you I’d help.”

Harry frowns. “And you told us that we have to pay you back, and as nice as you helping us out is, we still have to make that money up somehow. So how much is rent?”

The way she hesitates tells him he’s not going to like it, and he’s right. “Nine-hundred a month,” she says, and immediately Louis and Harry reject that. 

“That’s way more than what we were paying when we got evicted,” Louis points out. 

“There’s literally no way that’s sustainable,” Harry says. “Unless you don’t mind us taking, like, fifty years to pay you back.”

She sighs quietly. “It’s a nice apartment.”

“It’s in the north side of Chicago,” Harry says. “We’ll be better off in the south side, where it’s at least a little cheaper. I mean, me and Louis know that it was a miracle to have a decent rent last time, but we’ll look around and see what the best option is.”

“The south side is unsafe.”

“The south side is where we’ve been for years and it has been fine,” Harry argues. His tone is a little too harsh, so he takes a calming breath and steadies himself. “Nine-hundred is just too much. We can’t afford that, I’m sorry.”

“Now,” Anne says, and before Harry can ask what she means, she explains. “You can’t afford it now. But you will be able to eventually.”

Harry snorts. “How’s that?”

Anne looks at him for a moment before shrugging. “Engineers make a lot of money from what I hear.”

Harry gives her a hard stare. That’s not fair, dangling that in front of him. It’s unachievable. It’ll take years to save enough money to put him back in college, and by that time they’d have to put Addison through school. It’s a festering, bleeding wound she’s pushing around in, and Harry has to stay very quiet to avoid snapping. 

“College is off the table at this point,” Louis says quietly. “So don’t -- I know you mean well, but don’t.”

“What if I put it back on the table?” she asks, and Louis shakes his head. 

“Anne, seriously. Don’t go breaking his heart.”

“I still have the money I saved for his education,” she says, and Harry’s heart lurches in his chest at the implication. At the possibility. “There was about eighty grand in there. I figured you’d end up at an ivy league school out of state, or something. And after Gemma left, what money I had saved for her went to you. So now there’s a hundred grand sitting in a bank account.”

So many things go through his head, the main one panic even at the idea of what he would do with that much money. And he also can’t help but realize that means she only put aside twenty grand for Gemma, a fourth of what she put aside for him. Harry’s starting to wonder if he was treated differently than Gemma was and he never really noticed it; Gemma and his mother were always fighting. He never really took a deeper look at how he might have caused it. Even back then, when Gemma was still living with them, his mother would tell him all these awful things about Gemma that Harry kind of just believed. 

“Any money that you don’t use will be saved for Addison,” Anne says, and that’s what makes Harry wake the fuck up and realize that this still isn’t a reality. He doesn’t have enough time to study. He doesn’t have enough time to work two jobs and do school and be a dad. He can’t -- 

He wouldn’t have to work two jobs if his mom kept true to her word and paid for the apartment now and had them pay her back later. That would afford him the time to study and go to class. But that’s -- crazy. That’s not -- no. That’s insane. What happens if Harry just takes and takes and takes and then his mother decides to stop giving and leaves them in a pile of debt so deep that there’s no way out? He can’t do that to them. 

“I don’t know,” he says, and his voice comes out weak and pathetic. Louis looks at him, concerned. 

Anne looks shocked. “You don’t _know?_ ”

“I can’t trust you,” he says. “I can’t -- you could hurt again, way worse than before. We’d be in debt for-fucking-ever if you decided you hate me again before I finished my degree and we’d still have to pay you back and -- ”

“That wouldn’t happen,” Anne says calmly, and he shakes his head. 

“That’s what I thought before, but I learned my lesson. I can’t -- I can’t rely on you like that.”

“You’ve been relying on me for months.”

Harry keeps shaking his head. “That’s different. This is different. This is -- this is -- ” He doesn’t even know, so he can’t complete that sentence. But he knows he’s right, he knows he’d be taking a huge, selfish risk trusting her with that, and he can’t. He’s a father. He can’t take risks for himself anymore. 

Anne’s frowning. “I thought you would be happy.”

“Let me talk to him,” Louis says, and Harry looks at him like he’s crazy. 

“We _cannot_ trust her, Louis. Don’t be stupid.”

Louis gives him a look. “We already do trust her, if we’ve left her alone with our child for months. I know it sounds crazy, H, but this is -- you can’t say no to this.”

“But school is so _expensive._ ”

“Tuition costs will look like pennies once you start working in your field,” Louis tells him, and he’s right, he is, but -- there’s no way to know he’ll make it that far. There’s no guarantee. Louis’ asking him to put a lot of faith into his mother that he doesn’t have. 

Harry doesn’t even know what to say anymore so he looks at the table and doesn’t say anything. It’s not a terrible idea, and they’ve taken bigger chances, but it’s. . . a lot to accept from someone. Someone who’s hurt him so bad in the past, someone who has blindsided him once before. But it’s not like they have a contract or anything; if Anne stops paying for his tuition, he’ll simply drop out and not pay her back. She would be mad, but he wouldn’t be in debt, not really. Not in the eyes of the law. And the apartment -- if she’s co-signing, she’d be responsible for rent, too, and if she stopped paying it, it’d hurt her as well. She could hurt them again, she could, but maybe Harry’s overestimating how much it’d actually hurt. If he’s expecting it this time, he should be fine. 

“I don’t know why you would do that for me,” Harry finally says, and his voice comes out all wobbly and raw. “After everything, why would you do that?”

She looks sad, too. This is all too much. “Because I think I’m ready to admit that I’ve made some mistakes in my life, and I have to start somewhere to fix them. Even if. . . even if I think what you and Louis have is wrong, I don’t think it was right of me to cut you off anymore. Maybe if -- I had promised to pay your way through your education, and I took that away from you without any warning, and that was wrong. If it was different, if you had a job beforehand and savings of your own, I wouldn’t feel this way, but I didn’t properly prepare you for the world. And me doing this for you is most certainly a privilege, but it’s a privilege I granted you a long time ago.”

Harry’s near tears and he feels like there’s nothing keeping him from falling apart. That is absurd. What she is offering him is a whole new life. If this works out, Louis and Harry and Addy will get to look at these past years as a bad dream and would never have to live like that again. How is that fair? Why should they be the ones to be helped? He thinks about Lydia, about how she’s worked her whole life and got him a job and nobody ever helped her like Anne is offering to help him. She’s a better person than he’ll ever be. 

But even Lydia would call him stupid if he didn’t take this opporutnity. 

He sniffles quietly and looks at his mom. “I’d get scholarships,” he says, his voice still broken. “I did good in high school, and I did really good on the SATs. I would -- I could help. And I don’t have to go to a fancy school, I can go wherever is cheapest, I can -- ” His chest tightens and it doesn't feel like he can breathe all the sudden, and it scares the absolute shit out of him until a few shaky breaths push their way up through his lungs and he feels a little better. He realizes Louis’ holding his hand, and he doesn’t remember him grabbing it. 

Anne nods at him. “You can’t fail any classes. If you do -- ”

“I won’t,” Harry interrupts. “I _won’t,_ Mom, I -- I’m smart. I’m _smart._ ” At least he was six years ago. He hopes that hasn’t changed much.

“I know you are, Harry. I know you are. You always have been.”

God, he needs a drink. He’s never been much of a drinker, but right now he’s pretty sure the only way to properly handle this is to get blackout drunk and deal with it in the morning. 

“Thank you, Anne,” he hears Louis say. “Seriously, thank you.”

Before Harry can manage to say anything else -- although he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have been able to figure out something worth saying, anyway -- Addison walks into the kitchen, one of the cats looking only semi-irritated in her arms. Maybe Harry will get her a cat of their own, if everything goes well. She would probably love that, and Anne’s making it a possibility for him to give her that. 

“Hi, love,” Louis says. “Did you just wake up?”

Addison nods, and she asks for breakfast so Louis gets up to help her. As he does, Harry sits quietly at the table, trying to figure out what to think while simultaneously trying not to think anything at all. It’s too much to think about all at once. Never in a million years did he think he’d be getting out of this, and now he just might. He wishes he was stronger, wishes that he could avoid getting his hopes up so high so fast, but he can’t. All he can do now is hope that his mom doesn’t completely destroy his hope and trust. 

After a few minutes, Harry decides to get up and head back to the garage. He needs to be alone right now. There’s so many things running around his head, like college and having their own apartment again and Gemma, and he needs to get them sorted. Before he leaves, he awkwardly stops behind his mom and wraps his arm around her shoulders. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, and she pats his arm. 

When he gets to the garage, he closes the door and curls up in bed. He feels so guilty. So fucking guilty. For the people who don’t get opportunities like this, for Gemma, for seemingly being oblivious to how he aided her hurt. For not having the balls to come to his mom sooner; if he had, maybe they wouldn’t have had to suffer for so long. And, most painfully, he feels guilty for every bad thing he’s ever thought about his mom. It still feels justified -- just because she’s helping them now doesn’t mean she hasn’t hurt them before -- but he still feels terrible. 

When Louis comes into the garage a half hour later, Harry’s crying quietly in bed, and he crawls behind him and cuddles him close, and he tells him that Harry deserves this. Harry tries to argue with that, but Louis won’t let him. 

“You deserve this,” he keeps saying. “You deserve this.”

-

Harry and Louis do go out drinking, but it’s two days later and Harry’s too tired to want to get drunk anymore. He worked all morning, and he works again tomorrow night, so getting shitfaced loses its appeal. He still ends up drunk, though. Somehow, between the nervous excitement of going on a date with Louis in literal years and dealing with the constant guilt and anxiety he’s been feeling ever since that talk with Anne, he keeps agreeing to more and more drinks and then he’s drunk. Blissfully, wonderfully drunk. So drunk he forgets any reason as to why he maybe shouldn’t. 

Louis’ not drunk, because he’s is supposed to drive them home tonight. He has two drinks, slowly working on his third, and he somehow puts up with Harry, who is a clingy drunk and talking with everyone and won’t stop talking in general. They chose to go to Harry’s old work to get drunk; here, Harry feels safe and he knows the people here and it’s a gay bar, so he doesn’t have to worry about anyone being rude to them. Harry’s comfortable here, even more so when he has proper clothes on and he’s not working for anyone. That mixed with one too many fruity pink drinks, Harry’s probably beyond annoying, and Louis doesn’t seem to care at all. 

“I love you, Louis,” he says, his arms around one of Louis’ and his legs draped over his lap. Louis smiles softly at him, looking far too fond to be looking at the mess that is currently Harry. 

“Love you, too.”

Harry hums and presses his forehead against Louis’ shoulder. He feels so warm and cozy, and his face feels flushed but in a good way. “I’m gonna -- can’t wait for school, Lou. So excited.”

“I know, love. One more year, yeah?”

Harry missed all the deadlines for applications, so he has to wait another year. It’s okay; after all of this, he can wait another year. Especially when he’ll be spending it in a nice apartment with his daughter and boyfriend. They drove past the complex on the way here, and, well. Let’s just say a year spent there will be a good year, no matter what. 

“I’m gonna make you proud, Lou.”

Louis scoffs and kisses the top of his head. “I’m already proud of you, dummy.”

“Gonna make you a housewife,” Harry whispers, and he doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore. He’s tired and drunk and too far gone to care about what anything means. 

“God, you’re drunk.”

Harry laughs. “Maaybe.” Louis pulls him closer, and Harry is kind of just slouched into Louis now. There’s no real way of telling where one of them ends and the other starts, and Harry wouldn’t want it any other way. 

-

Even the keys to the apartment look fancy. They’re a light bronze and heavy and shiny, and Harry knows he’s being a weirdo for looking at the keys, but it’s so much easier to look at and accept when he’s sitting in a semi-furnished apartment that he doesn’t deserve. He literally doesn’t deserve it. If they can’t afford it, they don’t deserve it. That’s how this country works. But he’s here anyway, and it’s. . . 

Harry puts a piece of duct tape on Louis’ key so they can tell them apart, even though it doesn’t really matter. 

“Daddy?” he hears Addison say. Louis and her are in Addison’s room, and they’re unpacking her things. They have separate rooms now. That’s insane. 

“Yes, love?”

“Can we get a cat? An inside one, though. Not an outside one.”

He hears Louis laugh softly, and he closes his eyes. “Maybe. Not now, but maybe later. We’ll see.”

Harry has managed to keep the tears at bay all morning, but right then, he can’t help but let a few escape. 

The apartment has two bedrooms, a bath, a nice-sized living room and a small kitchen that is more cozy rather than cramped. They have Harry and Gemma’s old beds that they brought here, and Harry and Louis found a decent couch at a thrift store, so they have that, too. They’re going to go grocery shopping tomorrow, and that’s all they really need to make this place home. Home is an ever-changing concept for Harry. 

Similar to the prerequisites of moving into the garage, the whole apartment-college deal comes with some conditions. They have to continue going to church every week, and they have to take Addison along. Harry agreed so long as if Addison doesn’t want to go, she doesn’t have to. The apartment has to be kept tidy, which is easy enough. It’s not like they didn’t do that before. Anne also requested that they bring Addison over for dinner at least once a week, and all three of them have to keep up with doctor appointments: dentist every six months, doctor once a year, STD check-ups _when necessary_. That last part was tacked on after Louis and Anne got into it how it was an invasion of their privacy to demand that of them, and that she was literally just wasting money on something neither of them needed. So Harry suggested that, if they ever bring a new partner into the relationship (at which his mother physically cringed at) or ever cheat, then they have to be tested. Considering neither of those are tangible possibilities, it wasn’t a big deal agreeing to those terms. And the rules for college are simple: do good in classes, no parties, no cheating, and he has to be doing school full-time. The punishments for breaking any of these rules aren’t really laid out, but even if it just keeps the peace, Harry doesn’t care. It’s not really a big deal. 

Church, though. Church is boring as shit. And ever since Confession, Father Williams gives these warm, understanding smiles that just make him uncomfortable. But whatever. 

The first night at the apartment, the three of them cuddle on the couch and watch a movie on the TV that used to be hanging in Harry’s room. Since it was once Harry’s and Anne swore up and down that she didn’t really use it anyway, Harry and Louis didn’t feel greedy for taking it. And using Anne’s Netflix account feels like a right, considering he was the one who set it up for her years ago and spent months trying to teach her how to use it. 

After the movie, Addison is worn out and sleepy, so Harry tucks her into bed, they wait a few minutes, and then they head to the shower and have sex. Technically, they don’t have to do it in the shower anymore, but Louis has work in the morning and has to shower anyway, so it kills two birds with one stone and wears them out for bed. 

“Having our own space after all this time is weird,” Louis whispers into the dark when they’re laying in bed, curled up together under the blankets. 

Harry nods against his chest. “Yeah. Not having to pay for it is even weirder.”

“Hey, we paid for some of it. And we’ll be paying her back eventually. Well, you will, Mr. Soon-to-be-Breadwinner of the family.”

“My money is your money,” he says, and even though he doesn’t technically one-hundred percent mean that (he does in most cases, and they have a shared bank account, but there are still some limits to that idea) he knows Louis knows what he means. “Besides, I am currently the breadwinner. I make more money than you.”

He squirms and lets out a laugh when Louis pinches his hip.

“Not when I get that assistant manager position, you little shit,” Louis says, poking the spot he just pinched. 

Harry settles against Louis again. Their skin is still shower-warm and a little moist. “You’ll get it.”

“I better.”

“You will,” Harry says softly, and he believes it, too. Louis will get that job, because Louis works hard and is stubborn as hell, and because, somehow, the universe has granted them a window of opportunity. He will get that job. 

-

-

The next year passes slowly. Normally, that would be a bad thing. Now, with their apartment and Anne and future goals, it’s okay. Harry’s not in a rush anymore, and he’s not deadly stressed. He’s still exhausted all the time from working himself ragged, but he’s used to that. And there’s a different tone between working like your life depends on it and working so you can keep your family comfortable. 

Louis does get that assistant manager position, and it comes at a right time, because two months afterwards the front left tire of the car goes flat and they need a replacement. It’s the first real stressor they encounter since living at the apartment, and they handle it smoothly. There is no panic or fights fought out of fear, just a small wince as they take the money out of the bank account and pay for the new tire. Between living in the car and the garage, and now living in a place where they only pay a third of the rent every month, they’ve been saving a lot of money and their ‘in case of emergency’ stash has grown. And even if it had been some huge expense that they couldn’t make work on their own, they could have just gone to Anne, who would have paid for at least some of it and put the receipt in this little binder that she has to keep track of what they owe her. 

Life is different. 

Harry re-applies for college in August. He had no idea when he was supposed to apply, having forgotten the protocol, but he figured it would be better to be ridiculously early rather than late. It’s a different college than he was at before, so he expects to lose some of his credits from that and from the time that has passed, but it’s okay. His mom encouraged him to go to a better school and he’s not going to say no to that. 

Addison loses her first tooth at school, and she cries so hard that Harry has to come get her from school. After Harry explains to her that that’s normal and will happen again, she calms down and asks him who the tooth fairy is. 

“Ms. Robinson said she’d come visit tonight,” she says. “Is that true?”

Harry eyes her carefully. They’ve never really done the whole Santa/Easter Bunny/whoever the fuck else thing, but she looks like she could really use a mystical fairy’s comfort, so he caves and tells her that yeah, yup, that’s totally a very real thing. 

It’s October ninth when Harry gets his college admission decision in the mail, and he’s been accepted into his school of choice. He knew he would -- if he’s one thing, it’s smart, and his GPA and SAT scores from high school are proof of that -- but he’s still massively relieved to have it written down in front of him. He’s going back to college, and he’s going to get his degree, and he’s going to fix their life in every way it is still broken. Money can buy happiness, and it will in the form of a proper house and shortened hours of work and a lack of stress. He just has to get through college first, which he knows he can. He can. He _will._

They get Addison a cat for Christmas, because they’d been meaning to get her one for a while and by the time they seriously started talking about it, Christmas was right around the corner and it was the perfect time. They buy an older cat, an eight-year-old named Falcon, and Addison immediately deems him her new best friend and gives him the nickname FeFe. 

“I thought Falcon was cool,” Louis mumbles to Harry. “What the hell is FeFe?”

Harry just shakes his head and smiles. “I have no clue.”

And because they’re responsible parents and don’t want to teach Addison the same things Anne taught Harry, they make it her responsibility to feed him every day and night and to make sure his water bowl is full. It’s a small task, but Addison takes it very seriously and she always lights up when she sees that Falcon’s water bowl is empty and she gets to fill it again. 

Addison has her first playdate in February. She didn’t know that was really a thing, going to people’s houses and inviting them to theirs, so she never asked. One day she asks if her friend can come over, and they agree and work out a date that one of them will be home to supervise. Her friend’s name is Madison, and Harry is a thousand percent sure that they’re only friends because their names rhyme, and he’s pretty sure that it’s the cutest thing ever. Harry’s working while she’s over, but Louis tells him all about it, about how they’re polar opposites and Addison had so much fun and Falcon hid in their room after Madison picked him up and shouted in his face. 

In April, Harry and Louis hit a rough patch in their relationship. It comes out of nowhere, but also gradually. It starts because their work hours somehow end up even more flip-flopped than normal, so they aren’t seeing each other very much. And it’s like that for a while, about a month, until Louis snaps at him that he needs to work less at night. It throws Harry off, and they have a bit of a spat, which ultimately leads to Harry cutting his availability at the grocery store from five days a week to three. It pleases Louis, and it causes Harry to lose his job two weeks after he changed his availability. 

Needless to say, he’s pissed. He liked that job and he liked the pay and he didn’t want to cut his availability, but Louis wanted it so Louis got it. And he says as much, thus causing a huge argument between them one morning as they get Addison ready for school. 

“What the fuck does that mean?” Louis says. “‘Louis wants it, so Louis gets it?’ That’s _not_ true. If Louis got everything Louis wanted, we’d be in an entirely different situation right now.” He shoves a pack of fruit snacks into Addison’s lunch box, and Harry looks up from where he’s signing a form for her. 

“Sometimes it’s easier to agree with whatever you want so you’ll stop bitching, is all.”

Louis glares at him. “Then maybe you should be saying, ‘Harry doesn’t have a backbone so Harry doesn’t get what he wants because fucking Louis doesn’t understand how important it is to him.’ I mean, fuck, Harry, I’m sorry for not realizing how much you liked pushing carts for a living. My fucking bad.”

“We are shit broke and need money no matter where it comes from,” Harry says, standing up so he can grab Addison’s backpack off the chair. He puts the form into one of her folders before turning back to Louis. “Or did you forget that because you’ve gotten so used to spending my mom’s money?”

Admittedly, it’s a low blow. The lowest of lows. Harry’s taking money from his mom, too. And yeah, Louis seems to be a lot more nonchalant about it sometimes than Harry is, but that’s on Harry to communicate some boundaries with him, not throw it in his face in anger, further igniting a pointless fight. It’s probably -- no, definitely -- unhealthy, the way they never fight, so when they do, it’s kind of ugly.

For the rest of the morning, they bicker back and forth in whispers behind Addison’s back and, when before Louis leaves to take Addison to school, he kisses the side of Harry’s head, says he loves him, and then calls him a dumbfuck. 

“You’re so irritating,” Harry mumbles, shaking his head. And he doesn’t regret anything he’s said until Louis’ already left and there’s nothing he can do about it until tonight when Louis gets home. Harry will be here, thanks to no longer having that job. 

The fight isn’t anything that upsets either of them too terribly. They don’t say anything with the actual intent of being malicious, and both of them know that so the blows land softer. Does that make it right or mature or a good example for their child? No. But it kind of works for them. If it happened more often, maybe it would be more of a problem, but it doesn’t. 

When Louis gets home, Addison and Harry are sitting in her bed talking about all sorts of things. He kisses them both, and he doesn’t seem to be mad at Harry anymore because he sits next to him, half in his lap, half not, and asks them how their days went. 

They don’t talk about the argument until before bed. Harry says he’s not a dumbfuck and that he most certainly has a backbone, and Louis says he’s not the reason Harry lost his job and that he most definitely isn’t mooching off of his mom. They talk about it like the gross, old people they are, and as they lay down after talking it out, Louis kisses the top of his head and says, “You are a little bit of dumbfuck.”

Harry rolls his eyes and laughs quietly. “I hate you.”

“Love you, too.”

They’re dynamic doesn’t truly get back to normal until Harry has another second job -- a cashier at some bakery -- and Harry doesn’t know if that means he was harboring anger and blame about it, or that they can’t function together if they’re around each other too much because they aren’t used to it. It makes Harry unsettled, thinking about the latter, so he tries not to. 

In June, Addison graduates second grade and the two of them are hit with one of those suffocating moments where they can’t ignore how big she’s getting. Two more years and she'll be out of elementary school and in middle school, and then junior high and then high school and -- He’s getting ahead of himself, and that’s so far away, but it doesn’t feel like it sometimes. 

Harry buys himself a laptop and other school supplies in July, alongside Addy’s. It feels so weird. Parents aren’t in school at the same time as their children. That, like, defies the natural order of things or something. And for a little while, it makes him feel like less of a parent, but then he realizes how stupid that is. It’s just. College is so daunting. What if he can’t do it? Yeah, he did a good job the first time, but things could be different now. How is he supposed to know? 

His first day of school is a week before Addy’s, and he’s shitting himself. And he feels fucking ridiculous with his backpack on. He tries not to show how nervous he is as he gets ready -- God, what even _are c_ lothes? Picking out an outfit seems impossible -- but it doesn’t work. They drop off Addison at Anne’s before Louis drives Harry to school and he goes to work, and before they leave Anne’s, Addison wraps her arms around Harry’s neck. 

“It’s just school, Daddy. It’s not scary.”

He laughs and kisses the side of her head. “Thanks, baby. I’ll try to remember that.”

And he does try to remember that, he does, but he’s only in the car with Louis for five minutes before Louis lets out a loud laugh and grabs Harry’s hand. “You’ll be fine, H. Stop stressing out.”

“I’m not stressing out.”

“I can _feel_ you stressing out.”

Harry frowns. “Okay, well it’s scary.”

“It’s only the first day,” Louis tells him. “You have two classes, and those teachers will talk non-stop and give you a syllabus and maybe some homework, but you don’t have to do anything harder than that. Nobody’s going to ask you to prove yourself just yet.”

It’s true. Harry’s not going to be outed as a dumbass if he turns out to be one today. Maybe a different day, but not today. He tries to remind himself of that and what Addison said as he walks into his first lecture and slowly sinks into a seat in the middle of the room. There are only a handful of people here, and nobody pays him any attention. 

The first day goes fine. And the second and the third and the fourth, and all the other days after that that he loses track of. Some of his classes are hard, but in a good way. He feels his confidence solidify as he works his way through problems, and it’s. . . it’s different, that’s for sure. He’s not used to feeling like he’s accomplishing anything anymore. And as the semester passes and the class gets harder, people start to pick up on the fact that Harry knows what he’s doing fairly well, and he starts helping others. It feels so fucking nice. The selfish side of him feels smug that he can teach others, and the selfless side of him feels far too fatherly towards people who aren’t much younger than him. He’s twenty-seven, they’re eighteen, and -- well. Okay. He is a lot older than them, but still. It’s nice to be able to help. 

Since his goal is to complete college as quickly as he possibly can, he took as many credit hours as he was allowed. It means that he quits one of his jobs and works less at the other. It means that he leaves the dry cleaners because the bakery allows him to be more flexible than the dry cleaners, even though he made more money there. And it terrifies him, seeing how low his checks are and getting the bills at the same time, but things don’t suddenly explode. They don’t all of a sudden start struggling massively again. Because Anne’s there to take care of what they can’t, and that’s something he still isn’t used to. 

It’s not like he does extraordinarily well in his courses. He never gets lower than a B on an exam and he gets As in all of his classes, but he has to put a lot of work into his studies. A _lot._ He feels like he can barely spend quality time with Louis or Addison, and it massively stresses him out, but there’s nothing he can really do about it. And he’s putting all this work in now to give them a better life later. Addison and Louis don’t complain, either, although Addison has gotten a little weepier on him more than usual. 

He’s in an honors science class, working on some equations, when his professor stands in front of his desk. Harry pauses, thinking she’s just doing that weird teacher thing where they hover, but when she doesn’t leave, Harry glances up hesitantly. 

“This isn’t your first go at things, is it?” she asks, and she’s holding his last essay in his hands. There’s a ninety-eight written on it, and he smiles inwardly. 

“Um, no ma’am.”

She nods. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven. Almost twenty-eight.”

“What happened the first time?”

He looks back down at the work in front of him. “I dropped out.”

“Why?”

“I couldn’t afford it,” he says, a little guarded. He doesn’t really mind her asking, just -- she’s getting more personal and he doesn’t like where it might lead. 

“And you can now?”

He nods. 

“What are you doing in a freshman-level class?”

He looks back up at her. “My credits wouldn’t transfer. I was at a different school, and it was a long time ago. I have to start all over again.”

She nods slowly. “Okay. Well, that’s unfortunate, but it’s been nice having you in this class. You made some interesting takes in this paper.”

“Thank you, Ms. Ferguson.”

She gives him an impressed smile as she walks away, and he sits there smiling quietly to himself. It’s the first time since he’s been here that his experience truly feels validated. 

-

If there’s one thing he remembers from the first go at things, it’s that final exams are a bitch. Whoever decided it was a good idea to test students on everything they learned in the past few months within two weeks clearly is an asshole. There’s not enough time to study everything, so he has to prioritize his hardest classes and kind of hope for the best with the others. It’s also incredibly unfortunate that his study times come at the same time as Addison’s winter break does, so she’s always home whenever he’s trying to study. She’s a kid and she needs attention, he understands that, it’s just -- focusing on the daughter you adore is much easier than trying to relearn the basics of thermodynamics. It’s such a dilemma; he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings and make her feel lonely, but he has to focus, and he can’t do that when she’s yapping about every single thing that comes into her mind. Eventually, he has to give in and tell her that he needs quiet time. And she listens, of course she does. She’s a good kid. So whenever Harry goes to his room to study and Louis isn’t home, Addison follows and snuggles up in their bed, either playing with Falcon or watching something on Harry’s laptop or napping. 

He does good on all of his exams. The highest score he gets is a ninety-seven percent and the lowest is an eighty-three. And when he’s annoyed by that eighty-three even though it isn’t enough to take down his A in the class, he smiles smugly to himself because God, he’s so annoying. 

Once it’s all over, Louis takes him out for drinks. Since they drop Addison off at Anne’s and bring money for a cab, it gives them both the opportunity to get gloriously and completely drunk. It doesn’t take long, either; within an hour of being at the club, Louis is laughing loudly and spilling his drink as he watches Harry try to find the crumpled up dollar bills in his pockets that he brought for the cab driver’s tip. Harry can’t find them, and it’s because Louis took the money from him about two and a half drinks ago. 

No matter how many times he drinks, Harry will never be able to handle his liquor as good as Louis can. He’s not a lightweight, but when he’s getting drunk, he completely skips over the tipsy stage and dives straight into the borderline blackout drunk phase. Louis lingers in the tipsy stage so long as he doesn't completely over do it, and Harry convinces him to push it at least a little bit. 

“It’s _our_ night out,” he says, face so close to Louis’ that he can almost taste his breath. “We’re not parents tonight, I’m not a college student, we’re not -- no responsibilities. None. So get shitfaced with me so we’re both too hungover tomorrow to remember anything embarrassing I do tonight.”

Louis grins and tips Harry’s chin up with his finger before kissing him deeply. It’s not exactly what Harry was trying to push him to do, but he’ll take it, of course he will. He grabs Louis’ shoulders and pulls him closer, and they’ve only been kissing for a few minutes when Josh comes up to them. 

“Shit, Styles,” he says, voice loud near Harry’s ear so he can hear him. “I didn’t know you were back working here. Putting on quite the show, aren’t you.”

Harry pulls back from Louis and tips his head back, his arms still around Louis’ neck. “Hii, Josh,” he says. “How are you?”

Josh ignores the question and pats his cheek. “You’re a pretty drunk, kid. Have fun.” And then he’s off again and Louis pulls him back towards him. He presses a hard kiss to his lips. 

“Don’t like him calling you pretty,” he says, and Harry grins. 

In the cab, they probably embarrass themselves with how immature they act. Harry hasn’t been gagging for sex like this since he was a teenager, so he shouldn’t be held accountable for anything he does in that cab with Louis. At least he brought a tip. He hopes that makes up for it. 

When they get to the apartment, Harry struggles to open the door and Louis does, too. Louis’ the one who gets the key to work with them, though, and as soon as the door is closed, Harry grabs Louis and drags him to bed, where they fuck probably too hard. Harry’s definitely going to be sore tomorrow, especially since Louis finds it in him to come inside Harry twice and lick him out afterwards. He gets greedy, then, and Harry has to push his head away after a while, far too sensitive and sore to take anything else. 

“Good job on your finals, babe,” Louis whispers after they’re all cleaned up and barely conscious anymore. And right, that’s what this was all in celebration of. It wasn’t to give them an excuse to fuck like animals while they’re daughter was out of the apartment for the night, but oh well. He can’t be blamed for those two things overlapping. 

“Proud of you,” Louis says, squeezing his hip. 

Harry hums, his eyes slipping shut. He means to say that he’s proud of Louis, too, but before he can, he falls asleep. 

-

The second semester comes far too soon, and Harry hates himself a little bit for subjecting himself to this torture. Every morning class, every exam, every time he has to hole up in their room away from his family to study, he regrets doing this a little bit. And then, every time, he reminds himself that he won’t be saying that when he’s making more money every year than he has the last few years combined. 

Still, he’s grateful for the breaks he has. For the moments he gets to spend with Louis and Addison. Even his mom. It’s nice to see somebody else’s face every now and then. And church, as boring as it still may be, is one hour of every week of peace he’s promised. If he falls asleep in the back, or doesn’t listen to a word Father Williams says, or leaves halfway through mass to wander the halls, it doesn’t matter. It’s still peace, and he’s still fulfilling his mother’s wish. It’s the least he can do after every chance she’s given him. 

One of his biggest motivators aside from taking care of Addison and Louis is proving his mother wrong. Or maybe proving her right, because she is fairly certain he has the smarts in him to succeed. Either way, he will not give her the satisfaction of him failing. She probably wouldn’t be satisfied, she would probably be really pissed, but still. Deep down, Harry still wants to stick it to her in every way he can. When he graduates, he wants to graduate knowing that even if his mom helped him, he got her on his own. Anybody can go to school with enough money. Not everybody can get through school without the brains. And now that he has both, he’s not going to let anything get in the way. 

-

-

When he graduates three years later, it’s by the skin of his teeth. 

Kind of. Maybe not. HIs grades are good, and his professors are proud of him, and he’s been in an internship for a year now at a nearby manufacturing plant as part of the environmental team. So, on paper, it’s all really great, but in Harry’s head, it’s not as impressive. 

Maybe jumping the gun without any proper diagnosis is wrong, but Harry is ninety-nine percent sure he’s been facing some sort of depression on and off for the last two years. When school started getting a little harder, he started getting a lot more stressed. The amount of pressure he felt to succeed was immeasurable, and it was making him feel genuinely ill. He’d check his grades constantly and panic if things didn’t feel right, and it’s been driving him crazy for two years now. And when he got the internship, it just got so much worse; he had to quit his job to make time for the internship, which he wasn’t even being paid for, so that stressed him out even more. Every single day he had to be at his best, at his sharpest, proving to his potential future employer that he was something to look at. And it was exhausting, and it led to too many random fits of tears and sleepless nights and constantly feeling like he was living for his boss rather than for his family. The amount of times Louis had to calm him down and listen to Harry swear that he was done, that he couldn’t do it anymore, is countless. Also, Harry didn’t realize how little he cared about his career until he was three years in, so. That was great. It’s not like he doesn’t like what he’s doing, he does, but he more so likes the math and science parts of it rather than anything else. 

So, when he graduates, he’s met with so much relief that he feels high off of it. On the day of the ceremony, Harry is so keyed up to just have it all officially over and done with so he can get to the money part of this so much quicker. He never hated his last name more than today; waiting for the S’s to be called felt like forever. When his name is called, he is so fucking relieved to walk across the stage. It’s like as he walks across it, pounds of stress fall off of him with every step. And as he walks down the stairs, he finally looks to where Louis and Addison are sitting, and they’re now standing and clapping and cheering and Addison’s wearing a little graduation cap Louis bought her. Anne’s here, too, but he’s not looking at her. He’s looking at his family, at the two reasons he managed to push through school. 

After the ceremony, they go to Anne’s house. They’re all sitting around the table in the kitchen, eating cake and having fun. Harry feels better now than he has in a long time, and he’s grateful for everything and everyone that is here, but he can’t help but feel like someone has been robbed of a seat at this table. 

“I wish Gemma could have been here,” he says quietly after about a half hour of trying to convince himself not to. Anne looks at him, disappointed, and Addison looks curious. 

“Who’s Gemma?”

She knows who Gemma is. She knows that she’s her mother. Harry suspects that she just wants to hear it again. 

“My sister. Your mom.” He glares down at his plate, suddenly feeling so wronged. “Your grandma’s daughter.”

Addison asks, “Well, why couldn’t she come? Was she busy?”

Louis touches her arm. “Love, you know it’s more complicated than that.” He gives Harry a gentle smile and shakes his head subtly. Maybe it’s not right to bring her up, especially since Addison is growing more and more interested in her as she gets over. She’s fucking eleven years old and has never met her mother before. 

“I know,” Addison says quietly. “I just don’t get how hard it is to find someone. How do you just not know where she is?”

“I’m going to find out,” Harry tells her, very seriously. He can see Anne roll her eyes out of the corner of his eye, but he ignores it. He doesn’t need her money anymore; if she deems it wrong to try and find Gemma, then so be it. That’s not her decision anymore. “I promise, Addison,” he says. “When I can afford to, I’m going to find out.”

Anne shakes her head. “It doesn’t cost anything to go through the obituaries,” she says, voice low enough for only Harry to hear. Harry scoffs and glares at her. 

“You better hope that’s not where I find her.”

Louis claps his hand together and smiles. “Okay,” he says, the word drawn out. “Moving on. Who wants ice cream?”

“Me,” Addison says, and because Harry doesn’t want her dwelling on this, he nods. 

“Me, too.”

Louis nods. “Good,” he says, standing up. “Who’s going to help Dad get the ice cream?”

Addison stands, too, and follows Louis to the kitchen. Harry watches them, watches Addison stretch tall enough to get the ice cream out of the freezer and her giggle when Louis presses the chilled containers against her skin. 

“She’s a lost cause, Harry,” Anne tells him, and Harry shakes his head without looking at her. 

“She’s not. She’s my sister, and so long as that’s true, she’s going to have someone in her corner. You don’t know what it’s like to have that be all you need.”

He stands, then, and joins Louis and Addison in the kitchen. He tries to get Gemma off his mind; there’s nothing he can do just yet. Soon, though. Soon. For right now, he has a graduation to celebrate and ice cream to eat with the members of his family who are currently available to celebrate with him. 

“What now?” Addison asks when they’re seated at the table again. 

Harry glances at her. “What do you mean?”

“You finished school. Now what?”

He smiles at her even though he’s inwardly wincing at how much ass-kissing he’s going to have to do to win the open job position over the other members of the environmental team when Louis reaches over and squeezes his hand. 

“Now,” he says, “we take a break. A massive, massive break. Starting with a weekend in Michigan.”

Harry snorts at him. “Yeah, right. Now, I work for free until I work to get paid.” He keeps his tone light, because he really is okay so long as he isn’t in school anymore. He can handle the social-climbing and ass-kissing so long as he’s done with school. And of course a weekend in Michigan sounds nice, but it’s not exactly practical. 

Louis rolls his eyes, a small smile playing on his lips. “We’re going to Michigan for a weekend,” he repeats. “Whatever weekend works for you. I’ve been saving a little money on the side for the gas, and Liam’s letting us stay at his. He doesn’t work on the weekends, so he’ll entertain us.”

Harry doesn’t respond right away, too busy trying to process what a true break would really feel like, and Louis laughs. 

“Plus it’s your graduation present from me, so if you say no, I’m gonna be pretty annoyed.”

“I wouldn’t say no,” Harry says, shaking his head. He feels himself smile and a soft heat floods his face for no real reason. “Thanks, Louis.”

Anne nods. “That’s very sweet of you. Michigan is a nice state.”

And it is. They go the next weekend; Harry doesn’t have any other plans and he’s dying for a proper break. In Michigan, he’s so far detached from all of his worries that he’s pretty sure he’ll be able to convince himself to forget all about them. The three of them pack a bag, drop Falcon off at Anne’s, and then head off. They thought about taking a train, but Louis and Harry figured it’d be more fun this way. Addison hasn’t been on a road trip before, and she deserves at least that. They still can’t promise her any fancy vacations, but they can give her this. 

She’s complaining within the first hour, and it makes Harry and Louis laugh loudly. 

“It’s not funny,” she whines. “I’m _bored._ It’s been forever.”

“We only have three and a half more hours, baby,” Harry tells her. 

Louis nods. “It’ll be over in no time.”

She pouts, but doesn’t complain again. Until another half hour passes and she lets out a loud, long sigh. 

“What’s even so special about Michigan?” she asks. 

“You’ll have fun,” Louis promises her, looking at her through the mirror. She mumbles something that sounds like, _I doubt it,_ and Harry turns up the radio and rolls down his window a little more. 

Halfway through the drive, they stop at a restaurant to stretch their legs and get something to eat. Addison is immensely grateful for the break and the food, and she perks right back up. Until another hour and she’s whining again. Harry’s driving now, and he looks at her briefly through the mirror. 

“I can drive slower, if you wanted,” he says. 

“ _No._ ”

“Are you sure?”

She groans. “If you drive any slower I’m going to lose my _mind_.”

When they get to Liam’s house, even Harry’s complaining a bit now. He’s tired and grouchy and doesn’t like driving. As soon as they’ve reached their destination, though, he brightens up. Addison practically flings herself out of the car. 

“You two are so dramatic,” Louis says, laughing, as he gets out of the car himself. He pops the trunk just as the front door opens and Liam comes out on the porch. 

“Hi,” he says, waving. There are two big dogs in the window, barking with their tongues flopping about. Harry hopes this doesn’t end with Addison wanting a dog. They each grab their own bag and head inside. As soon as Harry sets his bag down, Liam wraps him up in a hug. Louis, who is crouching down next to Addison to pet the dog, smiles up at them. 

“Missed you, man,” Liam says, patting his back. “It’s been too long.”

“Yeah, it has.” Harry wraps his arms tighter around Liam as he debates if he should apologize for being such a dick the last time they spoke. It was years ago, but still. He regrets it. He shouldn’t have said what he did. Quietly, he says, “I’m sorry. For, like. Last time. It was stupid.”

“It’s fine. Really. I get it.”

Liam’s not the type to hold a grudge, but Harry appreciates hearing him saying it anyway. 

“You graduated then, huh?” Liam asks, pulling away from Harry. He keeps a tight hand on his shoulder. “Good on you.”

Harry ducks his head. “Thanks.”

Louis stands and claps a hand on Liam’s shoulder, so Liam pulls away from Harry completely to hug him, too. They laugh about something Louis mumbles to him, and then Liam says, “You’re lucky you got someone smart. The fuck would do on your own, Tommo?”

A smile tugs at Harry’s lips even though it’s not exactly true. Louis’ smart, too. Probably not as smart as Harry, and definitely not as self-disciplined as Harry is when it comes to school, but he’s still intelligent. He never wanted to go to college, even when they were just kids, but maybe that’s changed. Harry will have to ask him later, if he ever thought about going himself. Harry would be able to put him through school off his own salary shortly here. 

Addison calls his name and beckons him over to pet the dogs, and he does, wincing at how slobbery they already are. They’re soft, though, and they like to be petted. Sometimes Falcon gets irritated if you pet him when he doesn’t want you to. 

“Aren’t they cute?” Addison asks, petting the chocolate lab that has the name Lucky on its collar. That’s so Liam. 

“Yeah, love. They’re cute.”

Addison gives him a curious look. “Can we get one?” she asks, and Harry laughs and shakes his head. He saw that coming from a mile away. 

“Talk to your Dad,” he says, because he doesn’t care either way. She beams, and he smiles gently at her before leaning over to kiss her head. He’s going to give her this life, the life that LIam has built for himself. The dog, the house, the yard. He’s going to get that for her, hopefully soon. He’s just thankful that she’s been so patient. 

-

On their last day in Michigan, Liam drives them to Lake Huron. It’s a nice day and Addison knows how to swim, so Harry doesn’t have any objections. He won’t go in the water himself, but he’s okay staying on the shore with Liam, watching the dogs run around with Louis and Addison in the water. 

God, his heart aches. One day this isn’t going to be so odd. One day Harry’s going to be able to afford a vacation to a fucking ocean or something. He’s so sick of being one step away from it. 

“When do you find out which one of the interns gets the job, then?” Liam asks him. He’s messing with the sand by his feet, burrowing his feet in and pulling them out. Harry’s sitting on a towel, not in the mood to deal with any creatures that might be creeping throughout the sand. 

“A few months. I don’t really know. They won’t tell us much.”

Liam nods. “So you won’t start slacking. Makes sense.”

“I’m not the smartest of the group,” he says. He watches Louis splash Addison, and Addison jumps on him, taking them both down into the water. “But I am definitely the most motivated, so. I’m hoping that gets me somewhere.”

“It will,” Liam says. “It’s gotten you this far.”

“I hope so.”

Liam stares at him for a few seconds before sitting up a little, taking his feet out of the sand. He covers the holes he made before saying anything. “I talked to Louis a little bit ago. He called me from work. He was worried about how hard you were working.”

“Louis’ always worried about me.”

“True,” Liam agrees. “But you’re doing this for yourself, too, you know? Not just them. You have to at least try to enjoy it. Like, yeah it’s work and it’s shit, but. . . I don’t know. Take a moment to be proud of yourself or something.”

Harry squints. “I haven’t exactly accomplished anything yet. Not until I get that job.”

“Not true,” says Liam. “You finished college. You got an internship. You took loads of stress off your boyfriend. And you showed your daughter what it’s like to never give up.”

Harry laughs at that. “I’ve given up plenty of times in my life, Liam. Too many to count.”

“Not really. You might have gone through some hard times, but you’re still here. You couldn’t have gotten here if you gave up.”

“I just need to get that job,” Harry whispers. “I’ll feel so much better after I do.”

Liam nods and pats his back. “Just take care of yourself, man.”

“I am,” Harry says, because he is. So long as he’s making his family happy, that’s all he needs. 

-

Harry gets the job, and he feels so much relief that he can hardly think of anything else that would ever make him happier. But then he gets his first check two weeks later, and he swears to go he thinks he nearly faints with how quickly the blood rushes to his head, because holy fuck, he’s never seen a number like that. 

He’s making thirty-two dollars an hour to start. To _start._ And he’s worked eight hours a day, five days a week. With that knowledge, he knew he’d be getting a check around two-thousand dollars, but to see it, to actually hold it in his hands, is an entirely different feeling. 

It must be visible on his face, because his boss laughs and says, “What are you going to buy with that, Styles?”

So many things run through his head at once: save it for a second car, that dog Addison wanted, a phone for him and Louis so they can stay in touch throughout the day, a private investigator to find his sister. But none of that feels right, it all feels far too personal, so he smiles and says, “Probably just a nice dinner.”

Harry and Louis formulated a plan for Harry’s money a while ago: half of his check will go to paying off his mom, and the other half will go to them. It’s irritating, and now how Harry wants to spend his money, but he wants to not owe his mom any money as quickly as possible. It’ll take him a while, at least over a year, but it’s okay, because Harry plans on having this job for far longer than a year. 

There’s so many things he wants, and he’s so close to having them. So fucking close. 

He’s filled up to the brim with adrenaline when Louis finally gets home, and as soon as he’s through the door, Harry rushes over to him and shows him the check. Louis’ face is priceless, from confused to shocked to happy to proud, so proud, and it makes everything worth it. _Everything_. Louis laughs breathlessly and wraps his arms around Harry, and Harry clings to him as hard as he can. 

“Where do you want to go for dinner, hmm?” Harry asks, eyes watering and chest stuttering with emotion. “Anywhere you want, it’s your pick. Pick anything. Pick fucking Paris.” Obviously, they aren’t there yet. Yet. They will be one day. 

Louis laughs again, this time right by Harry’s ear. “How about just Olive Garden or something, yeah?”

“Whatever you want.” Harry pulls back to kiss him, hard. It turns frantic quick, and Louis’ fingers are in Harry’s waistband when there’s a quiet, “Ummmm,” from behind them. Harry and Louis pull apart quickly, but Louis draws him close again, like he can’t stop touching him. Harry rests his head against his shoulder before turning to Addison, still breathing heavily. 

“Hi, baby,” Louis says. “How was your day?”

She crinkles her nose at them. “Fine. Would be better if that did not happen again.”

“Oh, shut it,” Harry tells her, laughing quietly. He leans back into Louis, and Louis tucks his fingers into Harry’s back pocket. “We’re going out for dinner tonight.”

That gets her to perk up. “Where?”

He grins at her, still feeling high off the relief and pride. “Anywhere you want.”

She thinks for a moment before shrugging. “Taco Bell?”

Harry laughs and shakes his head. “I was thinking more of a restaurant.”

“Taco Bell counts as a restaurant.”

“How about Olive Garden?”

Addison shrugs. “Okay.”

Louis pinches his waist, and Harry forces himself not to react to it. “Go get dressed, yeah?” Louis tells her. “We’ll leave in an hour.”

She nods and leaves, and as soon as they hear her door shut, they head to the bathroom. They shut their bedroom door to hopefully make it look like one of them is in the shower and the other is in their room, but he doesn’t really care if it’s obvious. 

They fuck quickly and quietly, with Harry’s teeth biting at Louis’ shoulder and Louis promising that he’ll take care of him later. He says they can do whatever Harry wants, just -- later, when their daughter is not in the other room, wide awake and probably already having a sneaking suspicion about what they’re doing. Once they finish and actually wash up, Louis kisses him gently, far more gentle than anything they’ve done in the last ten minutes, and looks up at him, eyes wide. 

“Thank you for taking care of us,” he whispers, running his finger over Harry’s bottom lip. Harry grabs his hand and shakes his head. 

“We take care of each other,” he says, and he kisses Louis back, just as soft. 

-

A year and half into working at the manufacturing plant, he’s paid back his mom completely, they have a second car (it’s not the nicest, but it’ll work for now), and he has a private investigator’s number in his phone. They’re due to meet next week, and Louis and he have both agreed that they’re not going to tell Addison anything until they find out where Gemma is. There’s too high of a chance that Gemma is dead. 

Harry still hasn’t completely accepted the fact that their life is only going to get better from here. He’s still in denial, almost. Good things just don’t happen to them, and he has thousands of examples to back that up. But every day on his way home from work, he gets closer and closer to believing that, if they play their cards right, they’ll never have to live like they did before. They’ll never be scared like that again. It’s just. . . he used to be so sure that there was no getting out of it, and here they are. 

Harry goes to his last church meeting on a Sunday. Louis doesn’t come because he doesn’t feel like it, and Addison doesn’t come because she stopped coming a long time ago. Anne wasn’t happy about it, but she did promise Harry that, if there ever came a time that Addison expressed that she didn’t want to go anymore, then they wouldn’t force her to. Just like always, the mass is boring and he has to force himself to stay awake, but he’s also thankful for it, a bit. He’s still not a religious person, but he has more respect for religion in general now. Not everyone’s like his mother, and going to church for years on end showed him that. 

Once he gets back home, Louis and Addison are sitting at the kitchen table. Falcon comes and greets him, rubbing against his legs, and Harry bends down to pet him. 

“How was it?” Louis asks, smiling knowingly, and Harry rolls his eyes. 

“Riveting.”

He kisses them both on the forehead before going to get changed in his room. As he does, he takes his phone out of his back pocket to see that Matilda, the PI, called him earlier. He calls her back, and as he waits for her to pick up, he tosses his dirty laundry in the hamper. Addison had gotten bratty when Louis and Harry got phones for themselves and not her, but she’s barely twelve and they aren’t ready to deal with what happens when you open your kid up to social media. They let her use their phones to play games and call her friends, so it’s not like she’s completely cut off from anything, anyway. 

“Hello?” Matilda answers. Harry feels himself grown nervous even though there’s nothing to be nervous about yet. They haven’t even met, Harry just got her number off an ad and called her to arrange a date to meet. Still, he’s beyond paranoid that Gemma has died or gotten hurt in the last year or so. He’s had the money to find her for a while, and he pushed it off. He didn’t prioritize her, and now he regrets. It’s just -- Gemma is only a vague possibility now. An idea. 

“Hi,” Harry says. “You called?”

“Yeah. I just wanted to double-check that our appointment is still on for Saturday.”

Harry nods. “Yes. I’ll be there.”

And he is. He shows up a half hour early, and as he waits for her, he sips on a coffee and tries to tell himself that this isn’t stupid. It feels so dramatic, reaching out to a PI before any real searching done on his own, but he doesn’t know where to start looking. He hasn’t got a clue. Even when he knew his sister, he didn’t really know her. 

Matilda is a petite blonde with a nose piercing that doesn’t look very intimidating at all. He thought that was, like, part of the job. Although he supposes that her job is to find Gemma, not capture her or something. She’s polite, but they only exchange talk for a few minutes until they cut to the case. 

“Why’d you call me?” she asks. “You said something about your sister?”

He nods. “I haven’t seen her in years. Like, twelve. And. . .and I don’t know much about her, to be honest. I have no idea where she could be now.”

“That’s okay. Tell me what you do know.”

He stares at her, not sure where to start. She smiles encouragingly at him. 

“What does she look like?”

“She’s, um. She’s got brown hair, but she dyes it blonde sometimes. The last time I saw her, it was brown. And she’s pale, and she has freckles. A lot of them.” His eyes start to burn. “She, um. She’s in her mid-thirties. Like, five foot five I think. Probably around one-hundred and thirty pounds. Um. But she was also pretty addicted to drugs before, so she might. . . she might be smaller.” He remembers her being so small before. 

“Tell me about her addiction. Any dealers, boyfriends, friends that you know of?”

He feels like a terrible brother. He doesn’t know. “Um. I think. . . I don’t really know. I’m sorry. I remember her -- I think she started taking drugs when I was ten. So she was thirteen. But I don’t know any of her friends or anything like that.”

She nods slowly. “You can’t remember any names?”

“I barely knew her, it feels like,” he whispers. He rubs his forehead with the back of his wrist, suddenly very aware of how ill-prepared for this he is. He tries to think, of names or faces or places, and he comes up with nothing. “Can I call my mom really quick? I don’t -- I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how little help I could be.”

“Sure. Call your mom. See what she knows.”

Harry pulls out his phone and dials her number. She’s going to be so annoyed with him, and she might not help, but he needs her to. He needs to find his sister. 

When she answers, he tries to very vaguely describe what’s going on, but his mom isn’t dumb and she knows he’s with a PI, like he had mentioned before. She doesn’t want to answer any of his questions, but after a few minutes of nothing, Harry finally snaps. 

“I’m not asking you to take care of her when she gets back,” he snaps. “I’m asking you to help me find her so _I_ can look after her. So _please_ help me. I know you don’t like her, but I can’t believe you want her harm’s way.”

“Fine,” she agrees. “What do you want to know?”

Impatiently, Anne gives them a few names: Alyssa Matthews, Jennifer Craine, and Thomas Healy. Thomas was her boyfriend, apparently. Harry doesn’t even know who that is. Anne also tells her some of Gemma’s favorite places: the skating rink, a restaurant called Pat’s, the park near one of the elementary schools. Matilda nods the entire time as she writes down whatever Harry relays to her. 

“When’s the last time you saw her?” Harry asks. 

Anne snorts. “When I kicked her out, Harry. You were there.”

Gemma had been screaming and crying, telling Anne that she couldn’t do that, that it was unfair. They screamed at each other for what felt like hours, and Harry just sat there, staring at them with wide eyes, unsure what to do. Maybe if he had fought for his sister, maybe if he wasn’t so naive, she would still be in his life. 

Harry hangs up a few minutes later after he’s gotten all he can out of her. All that she’s willing to give. Matilda smiles at him. 

“Lots of family baggage there,” she says, and Harry winces. 

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Is there anything else I should know?”

He hesitates to bring up Addison. He wants to keep her out of this entirely, but that is the type of thing she should probably know. “She has a daughter. Her name’s Addison. I -- um. But she’s mine now. I’ve been raising her her entire life. She gave her to me when Addison was only a few weeks old. That was the last time I saw her.”

Matilda looks a little surprised. “Okay. That’s. . . okay.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to find her?”

She hesitates, and Harry can feel his heart sink. 

“I’ll try my best,” she says. “I’ll keep you updated.”

He nods, trying not to feel so hopeless. 

-

Ever since Harry started working, properly working, it’s obvious how guilty Louis feels. They haven’t really talked about it, so he’s surprised when Louis brings it up one night while Addison’s at her friends house. 

“You’re not, like. . . put-out that I’m not pulling my weight anymore, are you?”

Harry glances up from his phone to look at him. They’re laying on the couch together, their legs tangled up together in the middle. Harry’s been focused on his phone for a while, so he must’ve not realized Louis wasn’t in a good mood. 

“You’re still pulling your weight,” Harry says, frowning. He puts his phone down to give Louis his full attention. “You still make good money. And even if you wanted to stop working, I wouldn’t care. I can take care of us now.”

Louis looks genuinely upset. “You work so much harder than I do.”

“That’s literally not true.” Harry sits up more and sets his chin on Louis’ knee, wrapping his arms around his leg. “I stare at data all day and try to make rich people spend less money. Sometimes, _sometimes,_ I go outside to fix a problem or two. You bust your ass waiting tables for ungrateful little shits.”

“Feels like you don’t need me anymore,” Louis whispers, reaching forward to set his hand on Harry’s cheek. Harry leans into it. “I’m not used to not being needed.”

“I still need you. I’ll always need you, don’t be stupid.” 

“H, I’m being serious.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows. “So am I. I don’t -- this is what we wanted, isn’t it? I thought this was what we always wanted.”

“I didn’t realize how worthless I would feel.”

“Do not say that,” Harry demands, crowding into Louis’ space more. “I do everything I do for you. And Addison, obviously, but you, too. I love you, and I need you, and I do not want you feeling guilty or anything like that.”

Louis moves his hand so his fingers are running through Harry’s hair. “I went from using your mom’s money to using your money. Feels a little cheap, is all.”

“I told you so long ago that my money is your money. It’s _ours._ Almost everything you buy is for all three of us, anyway. Or something that’d better our lives somehow.”

Louis lets out a quiet laugh. “I bought a David Beckham figurine off of Amazon the other day.”

“Yeah, you did, and he’s cute. I like him on our dresser. I say goodbye to him every morning.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes, just staring at each other and touching each other softly. Harry doesn’t want him feeling bad, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. Eventually, Louis says, “You just worked so hard to get this job, Haz. It feels wrong to profit off your hard work.”

“You worked your ass off to become assistant manager at the restaurant,” Harry points out. “You were working there way longer than I was in school for. And I had no problem spending your money.”

Louis looks unimpressed. “Yeah, I worked twice as long as you and still don’t even make half the amount you do.”

“Louis Tomlinson, stop breaking my heart,” Harry whispers, shaking his head. “I barely held down a single job while I was in school, and you had to pick up my slack. And you supported me and dealt with me being bitchy all the time because I was stressed. And you supported us when I couldn’t work because I had pneumonia. And when I got hurt and couldn’t work at the club for a while. I. . . I understand that you’re not used to being looked after, but believe me when I say that there’s nobody else that I would rather share my money with. And even if you stopped using my money, I would just spend it all on you to spoil you, anyway.” He swipes his finger down the bridge of Louis’ nose, and it makes him smile. 

“I agree with everything you’re saying, so I don’t know why I feel like this.” Louis sighs and sets his head back, so he’s not looking at Harry with his head tilted. “It just feels like you’ve sacrificed so much more for us to get here. Pneumonia, got hit twice, pervy bosses, working at a strip club. . .”

“Taking in your stupid boyfriend, cutting your hand, getting in a fucking car accident,” Harry replies. He squeezes Louis’ hand. “Becoming a dad for me. That’s. . . that’s the biggest sacrifice anyone could have made.”

Louis gives him a half-smile at that and tugs him closer. He lays his legs flat so Harry can lay down against him, and he rests his head on Louis’ chest. 

“I love you,” Louis whispers, and Harry nods against him. 

“I know. I love you, too.”

He hears Louis smile. “I know.”

-

It takes Matilda six and a half months to find Gemma. Six and a half _months_. 

Harry’s cooking dinner with Louis when his phone goes off. He’s cutting peppers and Louis’ having a fight with a jar of sauce he can’t get open, so Harry asks Addison to see who it is, not really thinking about it. 

“Who’s Matilda?” Addison asks, and Louis snorts behind him. 

“His mistress,” he says. “Sorry you had to find out this way.”

“Shut up,” Harry mumbles, drying off his hands. He’s not in any real rush; Matilda was supposed to call him sometime this week to give him a monthly update. Another phone call just to hear that she hasn’t found much. He goes to answer his phone, but Louis whines. 

“Open this jar before I throw a fit,” he begs, handing it to him. Harry takes his phone from Addison and answers the call so he doesn’t miss her and tucks the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he opens the jar for Louis, who rolls his eyes and tells him to get the fuck out of his kitchen. 

“Hey,” Harry answers, going to their bedroom for some privacy. He shuts the door and plops down on the bed, stomach-first. “How are you?”

“Not great, actually. It’s too fucking hot in Kentucky.”

Harry hums. “Sorry. It’s not bad here.”

She lets out a loud sigh, and something about it makes Harry start to get nervous.” Look, Harry,” she says, and now he’s definitely nervous. “Gemma’s in Kentucky. In Louisville.”

Relief and confusion clash in his head at once. “Why Kentucky?”

“A friend of a friend of a friend said she left Chicago after she ran into some trouble here. I don’t exactly know what that trouble was, but. She’s only been here for a few years. And Harry. . .”

He swallows. “What?”

“She’s a prostitute. In a really nasty area of the city.”

He closes his eyes and digs his teeth into his bottom lip. That’s exactly what he feared. He didn’t -- shit. Fucking shit. “Have you talked to her?”

“No. You know that’s not my job.”

“Right. But does she look okay?”

She hesitates. “It looks like she’s been on the streets for a while, Harry. I don’t think I would have recognized her if it hadn’t been for someone telling me where she normally worked at night.”

“Text me the address, will you? Please.”

“Of course,” Matilda says. “I can stay here until you get here, if you want. Make sure she doesn’t go anywhere.”

Harry nods to himself. “Yes. Please. I -- fuck. I can come this weekend.”

It’s Wednesday. He’s leaving his big sister to the streets for another three nights. But he can’t take time off work, he won’t, so he just has to pray that she’s learned to take care of herself. 

“Okay. I’ll see you then. Goodbye.”

He wants to tell her wait, no, don’t go, but there’s no point to that. She did her job. That’s all he needed her to do. But afterwards, when Harry’s laying in bed and wondering what the fuck to do next, he wishes she could have told him a little more. His phone vibrates next to him, and he sits up to look at the texts. The first is an address to the hotel Matilda’s staying at. The next is where Gemma frequents. The last text is a grainy, blown-up picture of his sister, and a sob immediately catches in his throat. It’s hard to see, but yes, that’s his sister. That’s his big sister, and she’s leaning against a brick wall with her lips around a cigarette, looking small and frail. 

Louis comes to the room after ten minutes, and Harry’s sitting in bed crying by now. Louis hushes him and shuts the door. “Oh, love. It’s okay. It’s okay, darling. What’s the matter?” He wraps his arms around Harry’s waist and pulls him into his side. 

“She found Gemma,” he whispers, careful not to say it too long. 

“Oh. Oh. Is she -- is she alive?”

Harry nods, and Louis lets out a deep breath. “But she’s a prostitute,” he says. “She’s -- in Louisville. Kentucky. She’s a prostitute, Louis.”

“She’ll be okay, honey. We can go this weekend, okay? And she’ll be okay.”

Harry presses his face against the side of Louis’ neck. He’s not crying much anymore, but he still feels so bent out of shape. “I hope my mom’s fucking happy. She -- she needed help, Louis, she just needed a little bit of help. Like we did. And now she’s a fucking -- ”

The door opens, then, and Addison’s standing there, frowning. When she sees Harry upset, she looks confused. “Matilda’s not actually your mistress, is she?” she asks, and Harry lets out an inward sigh of relief. She hadn’t heard them. 

“No,” Harry says, at the same time Louis says, “Yes.”

Harry pinches his side. “Shut _up_ ,” he says, laughing despite everything. “She’s just a friend,” Harry tells her, and she doesn’t look too convinced. He sits up and gives her a funny look. “I’m gay, sweets. Not mistresses for me. Worry about your Dad on that one.”

“Oh. Right. Well, the water’s done boiling.”

Harry nods and tells her they will get to it in a second. She leaves, the door wide open, so Louis and Harry follow after her. There’s no point in talking about it, anyway, not when there’s nothing worth saying. 

-

Addison is beyond irritated they’re not taking her to Kentucky with them. The plan was to tell her that they were going to Liam’s for some party, but then she caught Louis booking the hotel in Kentucky on the laptop. She throws a fit, pretty much. 

“I have to go to _Grandma’s_ while you two go to _Kentucky_?” she asked, two seconds away from stomping her foot. “I want to go to Kentucky, too!”

“Kentucky is boring,” Louis told her. 

She scoffs. “It’s better than _here._ ”

“Shush,” Harry said. “You’ll be fine. And you’ll get to watch Falcon for us. You know you don’t like being away from him.”

“But why are you going? Why can’t I come?

Harry froze, unsure of what their new cover story will be. Louis took care of it and told her that his restaurant was opening a new restaurant there and he was one of several people to be chosen to open it. She bought it; of course she did, they never really lie to her. 

They leave for Ketucky as soon as Harry gets home from work on Friday. He’s tired, so Louis drives first as Harry sleeps for a little bit. It ends up being longer than he intended, and Louis’ already three and a half hours into the four and half hour drive. 

“Let me drive,” Harry says, still groggy with sleep, and Louis shakes his head. 

“It’s fine. I don’t mind it. Talk to me, though, yeah? I’m losing my mind from boredom.”

They arrive at the hotel late, so they don’t bother Matilda tonight. Instead, they call Addison and talk to her for a while before turning on a movie and cuddling in bed. It feels wrong; they’re here, in a consensual relationship, in a safe room, while his sister is doing God-only-knows-what a few minutes away. It makes his skin crawl. 

“Should we go find her tonight?” Harry asks into the dark. He’s not even sure Louis’ awake anymore, but he is. 

“No. Tomorrow, okay? We have to have a game plan.”

Harry nods and smooths his hand over Louis’ belly. It calms him down a little. “Do you think she’ll be happy to see me?”

“I don’t know, babe. She probably. . . she’s probably not in a very good state of mind right now.”

Harry gnaws on his bottom lip before sighing. “I hope she’s okay. I -- God. I hope she’s okay.”

“Me too, Haz.”

It’s the last thing Louis says before he falls asleep, but Harry can’t. He can’t sleep. Not when his sister is probably getting into some stranger’s car right now. Not when he feels this guilty. He’s beyond ready to go when Louis wakes up in the morning, but Matilda tells him to slow his roll. 

“I don’t know where she goes during the day,” she says. “Where she stays. I haven’t been tracking her for long. So we’ll go tonight, okay?”

So more waiting. Harry’s going to lose his mind. The hours pass by so slowly, and at seven, he starts getting ready to go and Matilda shakes her head. 

“It’s night,” he says, frowning. 

“Do you really think prostitutes come out at eight o’clock?”

Harry waits patiently until ten, and by then it’s dark and he’s so ready to go that he will not take no for an answer. Thankfully, Matilda doesn’t tell him that. Instead, she tells them that they should get going. 

“Louis will be with me,” she says, and Harry frowns. 

“What? Why?”

“She won’t come up to your car if there’s two of you. But we’ll be nearby, okay? In case anything goes wrong.”

Louis doesn’t like the sound of that. “It’s not dangerous, is it?”

“I don’t think she has a pimp,” she says, shrugging. “At least, I don’t see the same face or car around every night. I think you’ll be fine. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

They don’t define what counts as stupid, and Harry’s glad. This way he’ll have an excuse if he does do something dumb. 

Harry’s heart is slamming in his chest when they pull into the street and Matilda tells him over the phone that this is where she normally is. He slows down and looks out at the sidewalk, trying to find Gemma while also not crashing the fucking car. There’s only three girls here, and Harry squints, trying to see their faces. 

“There,” Matilda says. “She’s the one off to the side. The one not talking.”

Harry squints even more, and -- yeah. That’s her. She’s wearing a tank top and ripped jeans in the cold, and she doesn’t have any shoes. If she does, she’s not wearing them. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and her fingers are jumping against her arm. She’s jittery. Harry remembers her always being jittery. 

Harry slows down to a stop in front of them. Shit. Shit. He’s never done this before? Does he get out of the car? Does he -- God, what does he do? He sits there, feeling stupid, and one of the girls pushes herself off the wall and comes to his car. Not Gemma. Shit. He rolls down his window anyway, and he makes sure he looks nowhere but her eyes. 

“Hey, baby,” she says, and he tries not to cringe. 

“Um,” he says. “I want -- that one. Her. Over there. Can I talk to her?”

The girl stares at him, her tongue pressed against her cheek, before nodding and walking over to Gemma. After the girl talks to her, Gemma comes over to his car, and he tries to remember the plan. Don’t let her know who he is, take her back to the hotel, and _then_ try to talk to her. She’ll probably run if she knows it’s him. He takes a deep breath as she comes and leans against his car door, and he forces himself to ignore how sick she looks. 

“Hey, handsome,” she says. It’s a lot harder not to cringe this time, and he looks straight forward, hands tight on the wheel. “It’s okay if you’re nervous. Lots of people are. But I can show you a good time, yeah? I can take care of you.”

He clears his throat, still not looking at her. “Can we go back to mine? I have a hotel room.”

“Costs more.”

“I’ll pay whatever you want,” he says, trying not to sound desperate. It’s just -- how does she not recognize him? It’s been a long time, yes, but. . . she must be high out of her mind. 

“Okay,” Gemma says, and she gets into his car. He smiles stiffly at her and, when she looks out the window, ends the call with Matilda so she doesn’t see. He feels like he can’t breath as he starts driving again. 

“What’s your name?” she asks him after a minute, and Harry would tighten his hands around the steering wheel more, but he’s already strangling it. 

“Jim,” he says, because it’s the first name that pops in his head. He hopes it doesn’t sound like that. “What’s yours?”

“Rose.”

 _No, it’s fucking not. No, it’s not. You’re Gemma, you’re my sister, you’re_ Gemma.

“It’s pretty.”

“Thanks,” she says, and he just short of crashes the car when she puts a hand on his thigh. Before she can do anything else, he pushes her hand off and shakes his head. 

“Wait for the hotel please,” he begs. “Just -- I don’t want anyone to see.”

“Aw, you really are nervous,” she says, smirking. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take care of you.”

Jesus fucking Christ, he wants to gouge out his ears with a fucking fork. 

Thankfully, the car ride back to the hotel is short. She grabs his hand as he leads her to his hotel room, and he chooses to see it as an innocent thing. As he slides his key card into the door, he’s beyond angry with Gemma. She doesn’t know who he is, and she’s following him to his room, and she doesn’t know that another man is waiting for her in the bathroom. She has no fucking clue. She’s not careful at all. 

They step inside the room, and he turns around to shut the door. When he turns back, she’s unbuttoning her pants, and a strangled sound comes out of him. 

“No, no, don’t do that, Gemma, don’t -- _no._ ”

She looks horrified for a second. Caught. And then she furrows her eyebrows and narrows her eyes and snaps, “ _Harry?_ ”

He gives her a nervous smile. “Hi?”

“What the fuck,” she spits out. She comes over to him and goes for the door knob, but he presses his back against the door. “Let me out.”

“No,” he says, shaking her head. “No. I want to talk to you. I’ve spent so long looking for you.”

“I don’t fucking care, let me _out._ ”

Tears flood his eyes as he gets a good look at her. She’s so skinny and small. Pale. Eyes dark and lifeless. Unmistakable needle marks on her arm. He failed her. 

“Gems, _please_.”

“I don’t want to fucking talk to you.”

He sighs quietly. “Addison’s twelve, Gemma. Your daughter. She’s already twelve.”

Gemma reels back from him, away from the door. She looks so angry. So, so angry. “Don’t, Harry.”

“She looks like you. And she knows about you, Gemma. She knows you’re her mom. She knows -- she wants to meet you.”

“Shut up.”

“It’s true.”

“Shut _up_.”

He stares at her sadly. She’s panicking, scared of her brother and the idea of her daughter and everything else. He watches her sit on the bed and put her head in her hands, and he slides down onto the floor, still not moving from the door. 

“How are you?” he asks quietly. 

She laughs quietly. “Fucking peachy.”

“I know. I know. Stupid question. But are you, like. Healthy, I guess?”

She shrugs, and he just nods. 

“I miss you,” he whispers, and she glares at him. Before she can snap at him, he tries to explain himself. “I never realized how much I let you down. I thought -- Mom had me believing it was all your fault, and I believed her, and I’m _sorry_. I’m so sorry for that, Gemma. I should’ve fought for you.”

She shakes her head at him. “You believed everything she said. You were such a fucking bitch when it came to her. And then _you_ got kicked out. How’d that fucking feel, Harry?”

“Terrible,” he says. He sighs and crosses his arms. “Do you know why she kicked me out?”

She shakes her head. “All she said is that you weren’t who she thought you were. And I would say the same thing. Why the fuck did you leave my daughter with her?”

He frowns, confused. “How did you know that?” he asks, careful. 

“A few years ago I stopped by the house to see if she could help me with something. I heard Addison in the living room. She wouldn’t let me see her.”

Anger rips through him for so many different reasons. First of all, Harry didn’t fucking know that happened. Second of all, Anne should have helped her. She helped Harry, why couldn’t she have helped Gemma? What the fuck. And why didn’t she let Addison see her? Why -- 

“What the fuck,” he snaps, standing up. He’s fucking furious. “Why didn’t -- what the _fuck?_ ”

Gemma rolls her eyes. “Why did you leave my daughter with her?” she repeats, and Harry shakes his head. 

“ _My_ daughter,” he says. And then he shakes his head. “She’s yours, she is, but she’s mine, too. And -- I don’t -- Louis and I couldn’t take care of her properly. We were living out of our car for a few months, and we didn’t want that for her. She only had her for a little while, I swear to you. I wouldn’t give her up like that.”

He regrets it after he says it. _Gemma_ gave her up like that. 

“She’s with us now,” Harry tells her quietly. “She’s been with us almost her entire life. Things just got rough there for a minute.”

Gemma’s back to glaring at him. “Of course she helped you and not me. Of course.”

“I know,” he says, near tears. “I’m so sorry, Gemma. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize how much nicer she was to me than she was to you. I’m so fucking sorry. You should have come to me.”

“I tried,” she says quietly. “You weren’t at the apartment. I didn’t know where else to find you.”

He puts his hands over his face as tears rush out. God. She tried to come to him for help, and he failed her again. 

“We got evicted,” he says, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I would’ve helped you. I wanted to help you.”

Gemma looks a little sad now. His heart is bleeding all over the place. “Mom wouldn’t tell me where you were. And I stopped by Louis’ old house, but his mom said she hadn’t seen him in forever. And I had to leave town, so I couldn’t track you down.”

“I’m so sorry,” he says again, voice breaking. He squeezes his fingers, trying to calm down. “Louis’ -- um. Louis’ in the bathroom. Just so you know. But he won’t come out unless you want him to.”

“You’re still with him?” she asks, and she’s smiling a bit. 

Harry feels so guilty when he nods. 

“Good,” she says. “That why you got kicked out?”

He nods again. “She caught us kissing. Kicked me out that night.”

“She’s a fucking bitch.”

Harry nods yet again. “I know. She helped me, but she didn’t -- she’s fucking mean. I’m so sorry.”

“For what? Why do you keep saying that?”

He swallows down a sob. He feels so fucking guilty. “You deserve so much more,” he says carefully. “All you needed was help, and Mom was too fucking selfish to give it to you. And I. . . I’m so sorry I didn’t stand up for you. I thought -- I thought -- you two were always fighting. I guess I just got used to it. And I’m sorry that I didn’t come find you sooner. I wanted to, but I couldn’t afford it. I had to hire a PI. She’s been looking for you for months.”

She stares at him. “I didn’t want to be found. I still don’t. It was nice seeing you, Harry, but -- ”

“No,” he pleads. “No, no, no. I want to help you. I want to get to know you. I want -- I want to fix us.”

“I should be working.”

“Then I’ll fucking pay you to talk to me,” he says. “I,” he laughs, “I was a stripper for a while, I get it. Weekends are the best for money. I’ll pay you to stay with me. And to come home with me. I’ll take care of you.”

“How are you still so naive?” she asks quietly, shaking her head. She stands, and Harry’s heart falls as he presses against the door again. “I’m not leaving. If you pay me, I won’t leave. But. . . but I’m not coming home with you.”

“ _Please._ ”

“No,” she says. “I’m okay here.”

“I can get you an apartment,” he says. “After -- after you go to rehab, I’ll get you an apartment and we’ll get you all cleaned up, and then you’ll meet Addison and -- ”

“Harry. No.”

“ _Why?_ ”

She scoffs. “Maybe I just don’t fucking like you that much.”

“Don’t be so immature,” he snaps, rolling his eyes. “You sound sixteen.”

“I’m not going to rehab.”

“You’re an addict. You should go.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t care.”

“Gemma -- ”

“I have kids here, Harry,” she says, and he pulls back, shocked. “Three of them. Ellie and Milo and Sam. All under ten.”

He has nieces and nephews. Addison has siblings. What the fuck. 

“They can come, too.”

“You can’t fucking afford that.”

“I can,” he tells her hurriedly. “I went back to school. I’m an engineer. I make a lot of money, Gemma, and I can help all of you. All of you. If you -- if you have a boyfriend or something, and he’s nice, he can come, too. I’ll help all of you. Let me _help_ you. Let me give you the chance you deserve.”

She stares at him for a long time before she lets out a quiet breath. “You’d do that?

“Yes,” he says immediately. “Yes, I would. In a heartbeat.”

“And you’d really let me see Addison?”

He nods eagerly. “After you get sober, yes. All the time. You’re her mom. We can -- I don’t know, after you get better, maybe you can even have weekends with her or something. I don’t know. Come back to Chicago with me and we can figure it out together.”

She’s listening to him, he can see it. She’s seriously considering it, and he doesn’t want to waste this. He will go insane if he can’t convince her to come back with him. 

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks. 

She shakes her head. 

“Do you have friends here?”

She bites down on her lip. “Just some of the girls. Nobody that would miss me, though.’

“Then come back with me,” he pleads. “If there’s nothing for you here, come with me to a place where there’s a lot for you. Please.”

Gemma sinks back down to the bed, looking deep in thought. She chews on her fingernails, and he can see from here that there’s dirt underneath them. He cringes slightly.

“But I have to go to rehab?” she asks, looking down at the floor. 

He nods, feeling guilty despite knowing he’s doing what’s best for her. And her kids. All four of them now, apparently. “You’ll need to get a job. A proper job, no hooking. Can’t do that if you’re doped up on heroin. And your kids, Gems. . . that shouldn’t have to see their mom high all the time, you know?”

“Who will watch them? When I’m in?”

He falls silent for a moment, not having prepared an answer for that. He didn’t know she had any kids. If she gave up Addison, why would she keep these ones? It doesn’t matter, but he is curious. And a little nervous at how Addison’s going to take that. 

The bathroom door opens, revealing a tired and apologetic looking Louis. He leans against the door frame and gives Gemma a sad smile. “It depends,” he says. “How old are they?”

“Eight, three and one,” she says. “They’re usually okay on their own, but Sam needs -- ”

“I’m not going to leave an eight year old to watch the kids,” Louis says incredulously. He looks mad. Harry and Louis always, _always_ , found a way to take care of Addison. She was never in any danger. Louis was changing her diapers at work, feeding her when she cried. If he made it work, she could have, too. “I’ll take some time off of work,” he says, tone lighter. He still looks irritated at her. “I can look after them while you’re in rehab.”

Harry wants to say no, that he can be the one to take off work. These _are_ his sister’s kids. But that doesn’t make sense, does it. He’s the breadwinner of the house, making far more money than Louis. And he works more structured hours. Harry hates himself a little bit for putting Louis in this position. Again. 

“Can’t Addison do it?” Gemma asks. “She’s twelve. She’s old enough.”

“Addison doesn’t need all that stress,” Harry says calmly, before Louis can snap at her. He looks furious. “She’s only twelve. She’s already going to have to deal with everything else, that’s not fair. Louis can look after them.” He looks at Louis with a guilty expression. “And I’ll help, obviously. I’ll help as much as I can.”

Louis offers him a small smile. “I know you will.”

Gemma sighs land crosses her arms over her stomach. He can’t get over how skinny she looks, at all the bones poking against her pale flesh. “Can I crash here tonight, then? I can sleep on the floor.”

Harry opens his mouth to tell her softly that’s not a good idea, but before he can, Louis takes a much harsher approach. “I don’t think I could sleep knowing there’s three kids home alone waiting for their mother to come back. We’re -- either we’re getting them and taking them here, or we’re staying there.”

She sighs again. “They’ll be fine. Ellie -- ”

“Ellie is _eight_ ,” Louis snaps. Harry shoots him a look to tell him to calm down but Louis shakes his head. “No, Harry. I’m not going to sit here and baby your sister when there’s actually babies in need of it.”

“You don’t know my kids,” Gemma hisses, voice low. “You don’t know how to parent them.”

Louis looks furious. “No? Then why do I have your twelve-year-old kid at home?”

Gemma’s eyes widen before looking at Harry. “Tell him to stop. He can’t talk to me like that.”

“You both need to stop,” Harry says, a headache growing around his eyes. This feels like how it did back at home, with Anne and Gemma bickering constantly. “Gemma, you’re a high priority of mine, obviously. But Louis’ right. If there are kids involved, they become priority number one. I’ll -- just take us back to yours, okay? So we’ll feel a little better. Maybe you’re right, maybe they’re okay on their own, but we’d both feel a lot better if they’re with us. With you. And I want to meet them, anyway.”

“I want to meet them, too,” Louis says softly. “You make cute kids.”

Gemma smiles warmly at that. 

“Do they have the same dad as Addison?” Harry asks. 

“Ellie does. Not Milo or Sam.”

So his daughter has a fully-related little sister and two half-brothers. He has absolutely no idea how she’s going to take that. 

Before they leave, Gemma uses the bathroom (and Harry ignores how she holds her bag tightly to her side), and Louis comes over to him. He’s back to looking angry. 

“I will lose my fucking mind if those kids aren’t being taken care of,” Louis snaps quietly. He grabs Harry’s hand and squeezes. “She’s your sister, and I know that, but I’m not going to care about that if any of those kids are hurt in any way.”

Harry frowns and brings his hand up to Louis’ face to thumb over his bottom lip. “She might be a good mom, Lou. Have some faith.”

“Fucking _look_ at her. I would not leave Addison alone with her, and she’s fucking twelve. You can really look at that person and say they’re fit to take care of a baby?”

“I know,” he whispers, feeling ashamed. “But she clearly loves them. Once she’s out of rehab, she’ll be ready to take care of them better.”

Louis grabs Harry’s hand off his face and holds that one, too. “You better hope she is, because I will not give those kids back if she’s not ready.”

Harry frowns at that but doesn’t say anything, because Louis’ right. He’s right about all of it. And Harry’s hoping that it’s not as bad as they think, he’s trying to hold on to hope, but it’s not looking great. 

When they pull up to the address, Harry’s a little surprised. The building actually looks decent. Decent in the sense that it’s not falling apart and it doesn’t seem to be in a bad neighborhood. He glances at her. 

“How much is the rent here? It seems nice.”

Gemma shrugs as she gets out of the car. She sat in the front seat, leaving Louis to seethe quietly by himself in the back. “Landlord likes blowjobs,” she says easily, and then she shuts the door and heads to the door. Harry has to stay put for a second, trying to process that, and Louis lets out a loud breath. 

“Those children better be fucking happy, that’s all I have to say.”

Louis gets out of the car, so Harry follows suit. Gemma leads them to her apartment and knocks on the door, which Harry frowns at. 

“Lost the key a while ago,” she explains, and then the door opens and a little girl with light brown hair and a baby in her arms stands there. She’s holding the baby a little awkwardly, with his back against her chest and her arm around his middle, but he doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. Still, Harry doesn’t like that. She’s not a mom, she shouldn’t have to act like one. She’s hardly ready to be anything more than an annoying older sister. 

“Hi, Els,” Gemma says, walking in. She takes her purse off and tosses it on the ground next to a pile of shoes and clothes. Harry has to clench his fists at that. He knows full-well that there are drugs in that bag, and she’s just gone and tossed it on the floor. 

There’s clutter everywhere, and the air smells like stale cigarettes. There’s only a worn-down couch in the living room. Harry does a quick sweep of the room, and even though it’s under and mixed in with a bunch of other crap, at least there seems to be toys for the kids. 

“Where’s your brother?” Gemma asks, looking down at them. 

“Sleeping. I can wake him and take him to the closet, though. He’ll probably just fall asleep again.”

Louis digs his nails into Harry’s forearm, and Harry swallows thickly. 

Gemma laughs. “Oh, no. This is my brother Harry and his boyfriend. They’re going to stay the night.”

“We can take everyone back to the hotel,” Harry says quietly. “Might be fun for them.”

Ellie looks like her arms are starting to get sore, and Louis steps out from behind Harry to crouch down in front of her. He smiles warmly at her, but Harry can see the worry in his eyes. (And Harry’s trying to frantically tell himself that these kids are okay, that a little clutter doesn’t mean anything, but he’s _worried._ )

“Can I hold him?” Louis asks, and Ellie nods, holding the baby out to him. Louis takes him in his arms gently, presses the baby against his chest and kisses his head. “Is this Sam or Milo?”

“Milo. Sam’s sleeping.”

Louis nods. “And you’re Ellie, right?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a pretty name.”

She smiles. “Thanks.”

Gemma kisses the top of Ellie’s head before saying she has to use the bathroom. At least she doesn’t take her bag this time. As soon as the bathroom door closes, Harry crouches down in front of Ellie, too. 

“I’m Harry,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Louis rocks the baby in his arms a bit before saying, “You look tired, love. Are you alright?”

“Sam wouldn’t stop crying all day. He’s annoying.”

“Why was he crying, hmm?” Harry asks carefully, scared of the answer. 

She shrugs. “He missed Mom. And I wouldn’t let him have ice cream for dinner.”

“Ah, good girl,” Louis says, smiling again. 

They talk to Ellie for a few more minutes until Gemma comes back. She tells Ellie to pack a bag, and when Ellie asks why, she tells her that they’re going to Chicago. And it freaks Ellie out, of course it does, and Louis jumps in to calm her down and tells her that things are going to change, and it might be scary, but they have her best interest at heart and everything will be taken care of. It soothes Ellie slightly, and she reluctantly goes in the backroom to pack. 

“Do you have boxes or something? That we can pack some stuff in?” Harry asks, and she shakes her head as she lights a smoke. Louis holds Milo closer to his chest, taking a few steps back from the cloud of smoke. 

“It’s all a bunch of junk, anyway. The kids can take what they want and we’ll leave the rest.”

Harry nods slowly. “Okay. Makes our job easier, I guess.”

Sam comes into the living room, then, with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a pacifier that he’s much too old for in his mouth. He halts in place when he sees Harry and Louis, and slowly, he makes his way over to Gemma and tucks his face against her. Gemma says hello to him and rubs his back, and Louis makes a disgusted sound. 

“Don’t smoke in front of his face, for the love of -- ” he cuts himself off when Sam looks at him with wide eyes, and he takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “I’m going to go help Ellie.”

Sam looks upset by that. He whines quietly and kicks his feet out, and Louis stays put, trying to figure out what he did wrong. 

“This is my brother, Sammy,” Gemma says, motioning to Harry. “And that’s his boyfriend. It’s fine. Eliie will be fine.”

Harry’s head whirls at that, trying to find out what that could possibly imply while also frantically trying to not think about anything at all. 

Louis leaves to help Ellie pack, and Harry takes care of the baby’s things, like toys and diapers and baby wipes. Except the wipes are empty, and Harry throws them away in the overflowing trash. Gemma explains to Sam that they’re going to Chicago, much softer than she did to Ellie, and he doesn’t seem bothered by it once she promises she’ll be coming with. Fortunately, he doesn’t find any heroin needles laying about. 

After a few trips to the car, all the stuff that the kids and Gemma want is in the trunk and they’re ready to go. 

Harry’s not ready for anything he just agreed to, but that’s a different concern that doesn’t entirely matter right now. 

Gemma walks ahead of them as they walk to the car, and it’s pitch black, so he can’t see her if she walks too far ahead. 

“Hold my hand,” he tells Ellie, and she does easily, tangling her fingers with his. Sam is humming happily on his hip, and Louis’ got Milo on his chest still, and he’s sleeping soundly. They don’t have car seats, and neither does Gemma, so Louis keeps the baby in his lap and they hand Sam to Gemma so she can keep a tight hold on him. In the back, Ellie sits next to Louis, and Louis keeps his arm around her in the hopes that it’ll protect her if they get in a crash or something. 

Or something. 

When they get back to the hotel, they talk to Matilda. She’s planning on leaving tonight, so she offers to give them her room since her check-out isn’t until tomorrow morning, anyway. They accept, obviously, and Harry thanks her profusely. Once it’s just them, Louis and Harry try to figure who will sleep where, and Harry wants to stay with his sister but Louis kind of wants him with him. Eventually, Gemma sighs and looks at them. 

“I’m not going to run,” she says, knowing that that’s what Harry’s worried about. Harry looks at her guiltily, and she shakes her head. “I’m not going to run. Especially if you have my kids in the other room with you.”

Harry gives her a hard look. “If you run, I’ll find you, so. No point.”

“You’re hardly intimidating, but okay.”

It makes Harry smile softly, and Gemma smiles back. 

Louis clears his throat. “Milo will be with me and Harry. Ellie or Sam can stay with you. Or both. It doesn’t matter to me, but I want Milo to stay with us.” Gemma glares at him, and Louis shakes his head. “You look like you need a good night’s sleep. Babies don’t let you have that. It’s not personal.”

It’s most definitely personal, but Harry appreciates it nonetheless. 

“You don’t breastfeed him, do you?” Louis asks quietly, a protective hand against the back of Milo’s head. He looks worried, and Harry’s heart sinks. 

“No,” Gemma says. “I’m not that dumb.”

“But did you do drugs when you were pregnant with him?”

Gemma glares again. “Yes. I did with all of them. All _four_ of them.”

“Don’t talk about Addison,” Louis snaps, eyes narrowed. “She’s not yours to talk about.”

Gemma rolls her eyes and picks Sam up off the floor. He clings to her instantly, still sucking away at the pacifier. “I didn’t do hard drugs when I was pregnant. I’m not that irresponsible. It was hard, but I didn’t. I wasn’t completely sober, but I wasn’t doing heroin.”

“That’s good, Gems,” Harry tells her, and she scoffs at him before looking down at Ellie. 

“You want to stay with them or me?”

Ellie glances at Louis curiously, and Louis gives her an encouraging smile. “Come on,” he says, holding out his hand, and Ellie shyly takes it. 

Harry can’t say anything almost, feeling suffocated by the tension in the air. Eventually, he manages, “We’ll go down to the cafeteria and get us all something to eat, okay? You and Sam should lay down.”

Gemma nods before telling Ellie goodnight and heading to her room. There’s a room between theirs and hers, and he wishes there wasn’t, but there’s nothing much he can do about that. 

Harry and Louis head down to the cafeteria by themselves. Ellie can handle a sleeping Milo for a few minutes alone. As they walk, Louis vents about how irresponsible Gemma is and Harry stays silent, agreeing but not wanting to talk poorly about his sister. There’s so much going through his head as well, from Anne not telling the truth to the fact that he signed up his family to take care of three extra kids. Louis orders the food, and as they wait, he bumps his knuckles against Harry’s forearm. It seems to knock some sense back into Harry. 

“I’m sorry, Louis,” he groans, sitting down at a nearby seat. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “This is not what I expected.”

“It’s not your fault,” Louis says. He doesn’t sit down, but he comes closer to set his hand on Harry’s shoulder. 

“You’re going to be out of a job for at least a month taking care of four kids on your own. And it’s fucking summer, so you can’t even ship ‘em off to school for a bit of a break. I’m sorry. I’m -- _shit._ ”

Louis squeezes his shoulder. “It might not be what I had planned to do with my time, but I thought I made it perfectly clear that I would very much rather take care of them myself than leave them with your sister. And Addison and Ellie can help me if I need it. Milo seems like an easy baby, and Sam seems sweet. We’ll be fine.”

Harry sighs again and scrubs a hand down his face. He can’t stop thinking about how much they’re going to be throwing onto Addison at once. She’s strong, yes, but she doesn’t deserve to have her life infested by a bunch of strangers. Even if they are her siblings, she doesn’t know them. Her peace will be disrupted. 

“I’m just glad she’s accepting help, I guess.”

Louis doesn’t say anything to that, and Harry glances up at him. He looks apologetic. 

“What?” Harry asks. “You think she’s messing with me?”

Louis lets out a breath between clenched teeth. “I think she got a little too eager after she heard that you have money.”

Harry thinks it over for all of five seconds before rolling his eyes and shrugging. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t think she’d leave Milo or Ellie, and considering Milo is going to be sleeping on one of our chests, we’d wake up if that were to happen. That’s all I care about.”

Their food is ready, so he pays the lady and picks up the trays and heads back to the room. Louis goes to the kids while Harry goes to Harry. He’s not in the mood to talk anymore, so he keeps it brief, hands her the food, tells them goodnight, and leaves. He needs time to think. 

When he gets back to their room, Louis is bouncing a sleepy Milo in his arms and Ellie is sitting cross-legged on the bed eating her sandwich. She doesn’t look like she's starving, or anything, so Harry doesn’t let himself worry. He kicks off his shoes and sits on the bed beside her. 

“You can sleep in the bed with us or the couch,” he says. “Whichever you’re more comfortable with.”

She looks at him. “Can I sleep on the couch?” she asks, but she doesn’t look like she distrusts him or anything. Harry wouldn’t expect an eight-year-old to feel comfortable sharing a bed with two strangers. 

“That’s fine, love,” he says, grabbing a pillow off the bed and tossing it on the couch. “We’ll give you one of the sheets, too.”

She nods and takes another bite of her sandwich. At the silence, Harry glances at Louis, who’s gotten Milo to fall back asleep. He holds his arms out for the baby, and Louis rolls his eyes fondly before coming over and handing him over. Milo’s still little, but he’s big enough to be a heavy weight in Harry’s arms. It’s comforting. He hasn’t held a baby in so long. 

“I didn’t know Mom had a brother,” Ellie says, and it makes Harry frown. Harry told his kid about his sister, the least she could have done is tell her about him, too. 

He forces himself to smile tightly at her. “Surprise, then, I guess. I’m only a few years younger than her. We were. . . we weren’t that close, anyway.”

Ellie yawns, then, and it’s nearing one in the morning now. She should be asleep. He tells her as much, and she says she’ll go to bed soon. She does, and it only takes her a few minutes to fall fast asleep, her soft snores helping soothe the stress gnawing at Harry’s stomach. He presses his fingers against Milo’s skin to help ground himself. 

“We’re going to have to talk to the kids eventually,” Louis whispers, sliding into bed next to him. He sets a hand on Milo’s leg. “Probably after Gemma’s gone so they aren’t afraid to be honest.”

“Honest about what?”

Louis sets his head on Harry’s shoulder. “I just want to make sure they haven’t been through anything traumatic.”

Harry twists away from him, making sure to keep a tight hold on Milo. “I understand Gemma doesn’t seem like the best mother, but I don’t like you accusing her of not protecting her children. We don’t -- I’m sure nothing bad has happened.”

“Are you?” Louis asks softly, stroking Harry’s forearm. “Because I don’t know about you, but two men walking into an apartment that a child automatically assumes is one of their mom’s clients is alarming. And her saying that she’ll sit in a closet with her siblings is even more alarming. And, H. . . if she has strange people going in and out of the house, and a landlord who lets her stay for sex. . . I wouldn’t feel so certain in assuming nothing has happened to the children along the way.”

“Gemma would have protected them,” he whispers, not letting himself even entertain that thought for a second. 

“Gemma is addicted to heroin,” Louis says sadly. “And I barely raised my voice and Sam got spooked. I’m not -- I’m not saying anything happened to them. I’m saying there’s a possibility, and I’d like to find out the truth. To make sure.”

Tears flood his eyes and he shakes his head. “No more talking tonight,” Harry says, moving around so he’s lying flat on his back. He scoots more towards the center of the bed so Milo won’t fall if Harry moves throughout the night. Louis shifts with him, and once they’re settled, Harry has a protective hand on Milo’s small back and Louis’ cuddled into his side. 

“I didn’t see a crib in the apartment,” Harry whispers, breaking his own ‘no talking’ rule. He pets softly at the baby’s arm. “Ellie’s probably been sleeping with him every night. He could’ve -- I mean, I know he’s not that little right now, but he could’ve gotten hurt.”

“But he didn’t,” Louis says, clearly trying to soothe Harry. “And he’ll be fine tonight, too. You’ve slept with Addy on your chest enough. He’ll be fine.”

And Harry knows that’s true, but the entire night, he’s in-and-out of sleep, worried he’s going to roll over or shift too hard or something else. Halfway through the night, Milo wakes in a fit of tears, and Harry’s not used to hearing a baby cry, let alone it being so close to his ear, and he groans quietly, twisting away from the noise. 

“I got him,” Louis whispers, taking Milo from him. As soon as the baby’s gone, Harry turns on his stomach and lets out a quiet sigh. He’s about to fall back asleep when he hears Ellie say, “He needs a diaper change. I can help.”

“I’ve got it, Ellie. Thank you, though. That’s kind of you.”

Harry falls asleep once he hears Ellie get back under the covers. The next time he wakes, it’s with Louis sitting up in bed playing with Milo, bouncing him up and down with his hands under his armpits. Milo’s giggling loudly, and every time his feet touch the bed again, he wiggles his legs like he wants Louis to do it again. He does, over and over and over, and Harry watches them tiredly with a sleepy smile on his face. 

As he wakes up more, he hears the water running. “‘S Ellie in the shower?” he asks, voice all croaky from sleep. Louis looks down at him and nods. 

“Yeah. I woke up, like, ten minutes ago and she was in there. I have to piss, but.”

Harry nods. “Me too.”

So he decides to get up and go to Gemma’s room. He can use her bathroom and check-on her and Sam at the same time. He knocks on the door, and he fully expects there to be no answer, but Gemma opens the door after about a minute. She looks worse than she did last night, and Harry can’t figure out what’s changed about her. 

“Hey,” he says. “Can I use your bathroom? Ellie’s in the shower and I have to piss.”

Gemma nods and lets him in wordlessly. He surveys the room subtly as he heads to the bathroom, and Sam is sleeping soundly on the bed with that pacifier still in his mouth, and the room looks put together. Harry uses the bathroom, and as he’s peeing, he looks down and sees a needle in the trash can. She didn’t even try to hide it, and Harry sighs but doesn’t bring it up. There’s no point, not when she’s already agreed to go to rehab. 

“What time are we leaving?” Gemma asks when he comes out of the bathroom. She looks so tired. 

“About an hour or two. We’ll eat breakfast, get the kids ready to go. Me and Louis are going to call Addison before we leave to let her know we’re coming, and then we can go. Louis will drive, probably.”

Gemma crosses her skinny arms over her stomach. “Am I going to see her today?”

Harry chews on his bottom lip as he thinks it over. He doesn’t know the answer to that. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “I don’t know what the game plan is yet. If you’re seeing her, though, you’re going to shower and we’ll get some better clothes for you. And don’t -- me and Louis are her parents. Don’t confuse her with anything else. You’re her mother, but you can’t parent her just yet. You have to earn that.”

Gemma smiles thinly. “Sam’s excited to meet her.”

“ _Sam’s_ too old to be having that pacifier,” Harry says, because he can’t help himself. “It’s probably messing up his teeth. I’ll have to take him to a dentist.”

“He’s an anxious little boy,” Gemma says. “It calms him down.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say to that, so he tells her that he’ll go get breakfast. 

-

The ride home is entirely unsettling. It’s not even that bad, it just feels so. . . suffocating. Harry’s sitting in the back with the kids, Milo in his arms and Sam next to Ellie, and Gemma’s in the passenger’s seat with Louis driving. He can _feel_ how stressed Louis is, and it just adds more to Harry’s. And Gemma keeps moving around, all jittery, and it’s making him even more nervous. 

An hour into the drive, Gemma lights a cigarette and Louis scoffs loudly. 

“Not in my car,” he snaps, even though it’s Harry’s. When Gemma glares at him, Louis shakes his head. “No. Put it out.”

She takes one long drag from it before tossing it out the window, sighing loudly. 

“You’ve got yourself a prude, Harry,” Gemma says. 

Reflexively, Harry says, “Don’t talk bad about Louis.”

“But he’s -- ”

“You sound like Mom,” is what he says that gets her to shut up for good. 

An hour later, Milo cries and Harry jolts awake. He didn’t even realize he had fallen asleep, and now his heart is racing and he’s disoriented as he tries to calm Milo down. He rocks him gently and shushes him, and Ellie reaches over to pet his head, but he doesn’t calm down until he’s in Gemma’s arms. It settles something deep inside of Harry: she’s not a terrible mom. She can’t be, if Milo likes her enough to be soothed by her presence. 

He glances at Ellie and Sam and hopes that is true. Sam is leaning against his sister’s shoulder, still sucking on that pacifier, and it makes Harry sigh. 

“Sam, love,” he says. Sam looks at him with owlish eyes. “Can we maybe try not having that in our mouth, hmm?” 

Sam just looks at him with wide eyes before he hides his face in Ellie’s neck, and Harry nods slowly. He reaches over to pat Sam’s knee. 

“That’s okay, bud. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

They stop at a convenience store a little over halfway through the drive. Everyone gets out, Gemma making a beeline for the bathroom, Louis getting gas, and Harry taking the kids inside with him. He lets them pick out a snack, and Ellie skips happily to the chip section while Sam lingers by his side, his hands balled up by his side. 

“You’re not hungry?” Harry asks, and Sam just latches onto his leg. Harry sighs, bending down carefully with Milo still in his arms. “You have to talk to me, buddy. What’s up?”

Sam reluctantly takes the pacifier out of his mouth and peers up at him. “Don’t wanna go alone,” he says nervously, and Harry gives him an encouraging smile. 

“You’re not alone, babe. I’m right here. See, Ellie’s right here, we can still see her, right?” he asks, pointing to Ellie. Sam has to stand on his tiptoes to see his sister, and once he does, he looks visibly more relaxed. 

“Come with me?” Sam asks, eyes still so wide. God, he’s got the prettiest blue eyes. They remind him of Louis’. He reaches for Harry’s hand, and Harry takes it and walks him to the aisle Ellie is in. She’s got a bag of cheeto puffs in one hand and doritos in the other. 

“Which one should I get, Sam?” she asks, showing them to him. Sam stares at them for a second before looking at the shelves. His fingers wiggle within Harry’s grasp, and Harry squeezes his hand to let him know that he’s still there. Silently, the pacifier stuffed right back in his mouth, Sam points up at a box of gummy worms. Harry gets it down for him and hands it to him, and Sam holds it to his chest possessively. 

Ellie picks the cheeto puffs and he’s walking up to the counter to pay when Gemma emerges from the bathroom, her pupils as thin as needle pricks. He sets his hand on top of Sam’s light brown hair. 

“You want anything?” Harry asks, and Gemma wordlessly shakes her head before heading back to the car. Harry watches her go sadly, and Sam reaches out for her as she goes, but Ellie grabs his hand instead. 

Harry pays and takes the kids to the bathroom before he leaves, feeling so, so sad. For his sister and for the kids. 

Louis and Gemma are in the car when Harry returns, and Ellie and Sam climb into the car while Harry opens Louis’ door to talk to him. He offers to drive, and Louis says no, that it’s keeping his mind off of his things. So Harry gives him the pop and chips he bought him and a kiss, and he’s about to ask him if they’re still planning on taking Gemma back to theirs first when Gemma sighs and tells them to hurry up. 

“You’re not seeing my daughter while you're high,” Harry snaps, looking her straight in the eye. “Just so we get that out of the way now.”

Gemma rolls her eyes and looks out the window. 

Louis squeezes his forearm. “Maybe while you get Addison from Anne’s, I can take Gemma out to buy her some clothes and stuff. With the kids, obviously, but she’s probably going to want more than what she has while she’s in rehab. And. . . and maybe she stays the night at ours tonight and we get her in somewhere tomorrow? Just so Addison can meet her before. . . or maybe we should let Addy decide if she wants to be her now or later. I don’t know.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Harry says, nodding, before kissing Louis again and shutting the door. He gets in the back, Sam now in the middle. After Harry buckles his seatbelt, Sam hands him the bag of gummies. 

“Do you not want anymore?” Harry asks, and Sam shakes his head. 

“Have some,” he says around the pacifier. Harry wants so badly to take it from him and just let him cry it out, but he won’t do that until Gemma’s gone. Instead, he thanks him and takes one before handing him the bag back. 

“Mommy,” he says. “Have some.”

Gemma shakes her head wordlessly, and Sam’s face falls. 

“Louis will want one,” Harry tells him quickly, and Sam perks right back up. 

“Louis,” he says. “Have some.”

Louis turns around to grab some from him, and he thanks him quietly before turning back around. He starts the car and then they’re off again, and Harry takes his phone out to text Anne.

_About two more hours._

As he sits in the back, he decides that they’ll get Addison a phone shortly. Partly to distract her from the bombshell they’re about to drop on her life and partly so he can text her throughout the day, reminding her that she’s still important and that he loves her. Harry knows she’s going to struggle with not being an only child anymore, especially when the kids are younger and need a lot of attention to get through the day. 

“Can I play?” Sam asks, snuggling up against him and pointing at his phone. His pacifier is on his lap, and Harry takes it as he hands him his phone, hoping that he’ll at least be distracted to go without it for a little while. 

When they get to their apartment, fucking finally, Milo is asleep on Harry’s chest and Sam is asleep against his shoulder. Ellie is now playing on his phone, and she cheers when they park. Gemma lets out a low whistle. 

“Did good for yourself, baby brother.”

Harry wonders what she’d think if she knew Anne’s the one who was paying rent on it for a while. 

Louis takes Milo from him so Harry can carry Sam, and Sam wakes halfway through the walk to their apartment. He lets out a sleepy sound before whining. 

“Where’s my binky?” he asks sadly, clutching onto Harry harder. 

Harry hums reassuringly. “I don’t know, we’ll have to find it later, ‘kay?” he says, as if the pacifier isn’t shoved in his pocket right now. Sam whines softly before sliding his thumb into his mouth, and Harry suppresses a sigh. 

“Alright, loves,” Louis says as he opens the door. Ellie pushes her way in first and Sam lifts his head up as they walk in. They all file into the center of the living room and Louis points as he talks. “Bathroom. Kitchen. Room, room. Stay out of the back rooms for now, okay? But feel free with everything else.”

Harry leaves a few minutes later to get Addison and Falcon. He doesn’t particularly want to be the one to talk Addison through this, but Louis thinks it’ll be better coming from him. Gemma _is_ Harry’s sister, after all. So Harry leaves, with his heart in his throat and Sam waving goodbye at him. 

He doesn’t want to talk to his mom, so when he gets there, he just honks. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut if she came out and talked to him, so he’s glad that it’s only Addison and Falcon that come out. She’s smiling, and Harry feels so guilty for what he’s about to spring on her. She’s only twelve, for fuck’s sake.

“Hi, Dad,” she says, and instinctively, he leans over to kiss her cheek. She smiles warmly at him as she buckles her seatbelt and Harry pats Falcon’s head before starting the car. He’s going to park a street or two away so they can talk, but he doesn’t want to do it in front of Anne’s house. 

“How was your weekend?” Harry asks, voice tight. She doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Fine. A little boring, but it’s okay. Certainly wasn’t as fun as Kentucky.”

Harry barely manages to fake a smile at that. He parks on a street two blocks away, in front of a house that has no cars in the driveway so nobody’s home, most likely. Addison looks at him, confused, and he shifts the car into park before looking at her. 

“I have to talk to you about something,” he says, trying not to sound too ominous. “It’s. . . a lot, okay, and I’m sorry for laying this on you with no warning. But just -- me and Dad love you a lot, okay? And if we could have done this an easier way, we would have. So, just. Just know that.”

Addison looks worried. “Okay,” she says slowly.

Harry takes a deep breath and begins. 

“We didn’t go to Kentucky for Dad’s work,” he says. “We told you that because we didn’t quite know what to expect. But we. . . Adds, me and Dad went to Kentucky to see Gemma. We hired a PI a while back to track her down, and that’s who Matilda is, and that’s why we were in Louisville.”

She pulls back, confused. “What? Is she -- is she here? In Chicago?”

“Yes,” he says, and he feel so, so guilty, fuck. “She’s at home, love. But it’s -- it’s more complicated than that.”

There are tears in Addison’s eyes. “How does it get more complicated than that?”

Oh, where to start with that question. Does he mention her siblings first, or her mom’s drug addiction, or about the fact that they’ll be staying with them while her mom’s in rehab. Hmm. 

“She’s a drug addict,” he says slowly, and his voice catches slightly. He clears his throat. “She has to go to rehab, babe. Me and your dad are trying to find somewhere that will take her tomorrow. But it’s -- it’s totally up to you if you want to see her now, when she’s maybe not so great, or later on, when she’s out of rehab and healthier. It’s up to you. You don’t even have to see her at all, if you don’t want to.”

Addison’s face turns bright red and she stares out the front window. “I don’t know,” she says shakily. Harry grabs her hand; she doesn’t reject him, and it makes him beyond relieved. 

“There’s one more thing,” he says, and she lets out a quiet sob. He squeezes her hand. “I know this is hard. I know. I’m so sorry, love.”

“Just -- what? What else?”

“She had other kids,” he tells her. Immediately, Addison whips around to look at him. 

“What?”

He nods hesitantly. “Three of them. Um. One of them is fully related to you, and the other two are your half-siblings.”

“She kept them?” The _and not me_ goes unsaid.

“Yes,” he says, and before she can respond, he says quickly, “And believe me, love, I know that’s hard to hear but you being with us is the best thing that could’ve happened for you. I know that sounds stupid and insensitive to tell you right now, but just. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to see her,” Addison says, and her tone is final. Harry’s not going to force her to change her mind, so he nods and pulls out his phone. 

“Let me text Dad to put her up in a motel for the night, then. I might stay with her if that’s the case.” He texts Louis quickly before putting his phone back down and looking back at her. “Addison. Gemma’s kids, your siblings, whichever you want to say. . . they’re going to be staying with us for a little while. And I know that probably sucks, and I’m sorry to throw that on you, but they need someone to look after them.”

She handles this part a lot better than he thought she would. 

“I want to meet them,” she says. “I want -- how old are they? Boys or girls? Do they know about me?”

“Ellie is eight. She’s your full-sister. Which, by the way, that doesn’t mean you should look at them differently, I’m just letting you know that you share the same dad.”

“ _You’re_ my dad,” Addison says softly, and Harry nods vehemently. 

“Yes. Yes, I am. Biological dad is all that I meant.” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “Sam is three. He’s a boy. He, um. ‘S bit skittish, but he’s sweet. And Milo is a year old. He’s a good baby, it seems like, but he’s going to get annoying fast, I’m not going to lie to you.”

“Do they know about me?” she asks again. 

Harry shrugs. “I think? I’m not entirely sure. Gemma said that Sam was excited to meet you, but I don’t know how much he knows. But we’ll explain it to them, obviously. That you’re they’re big sister.” He hesitates. “Unless you don’t want to be called that. It’s your decision. They can be your cousins in your head, if that’s easier. It’s kind of true.”

Addison shakes her head. “Lying to them isn’t fair.”

“Okay,” he agrees easily. “But -- Addison. I want to make it very clear right now that you are our daughter. Not Gemma’s. You don’t owe her anything, okay? And we love you so much. Things are going to be different for a while at home, and I’m sorry, but we’re trying to do right by those kids. Trust me, having three little shits running around is not what I had imagined for us right now.”

She smiles, and he’s glad the joke went over well. 

“Do you want to talk about anything?” he asks her. “I know this is a lot.”

“Where are they going to sleep?”

Harry tries to look less clueless as he thinks of an answer. “Milo will be in our room,” he says, because he knows that much. “We’d probably get Ellie a bed for your room, if that’s okay. I can’t have her sleeping on a couch the entire time.”

Addison nods, but she doesn’t look so enthusiastic. 

“And Sam will either sleep with Ellie or us. I don’t know yet.”

“Does Grandma know?”

Harry scoffs quietly, and then immediately regrets it. “No,” he says. “I’ll call her eventually to fill her in. Not right now, though.”

“Okay,” Addison says. 

“Okay?”

Addison shrugs indifferently, even though he can see how nervous she is. “They have to be nice to Falcon,” she says after about a minute. 

Harry laughs quietly, his chest feeling light for the first time in days. “Yes, love. We’ll look out for him, don’t you worry.”

When they get back to the apartment, he sees Louis’ car in the parking lot, meaning he’s already dropped Gemma off. Falcon squirms in Addison’s arms, but she holds onto him tightly. She stays behind Harry as he unlocks the door, and she presses against him when they walk in. 

Sam’s crying in the middle of the floor, Ellie crouched down beside him. Louis’ holding Milo, staring down at them sadly. 

“Why’s he upset?” Harry asks, frowning. Ellie’s rubbing his back and whispering to him something Harry can’t make out. 

“He doesn’t want to be away from Gemma,” Louis says tiredly. “But I wasn’t about to leave him at the motel with her.”

Harry nods, agreeing with that. He grabs the pacifier out of his pocket and hands it to Sam, even though he should’ve probably washed it off first and shouldn’t have given it back at all. He needs the comfort, though. Harry would feel like a dick to take away his only coping mechanism right now. Sam must take it as a peace offering because he makes grabby hands for Harry, and Harry scoops him up off the floor. 

“This is Sam,” he says, turning back to Addison. He gives her an apologetic smile. “He’s usually a little more perky than this. Sam, bud, this is Addison. Your mom said you were excited to meet her.” 

But Sam isn't done crying, so he just shoves his face against Harry’s neck and wails. He rubs his back and squeezes his arm lightly. 

“This is Ellie,” Harry says, motioning to her. “Ellie, this is Addison. She’s, um. Your older sister.”

Ellie stares at her without saying anything, and Addison stares right back, just as wordless. Harry’s about to pop with stress when Ellie quietly says hello, and Addison says it back, just as quietly. 

“Did you know you had an older sister?” Louis asks, and Ellie shakes her head. 

Addison cracks a smile. “Well, I didn’t know I had a younger sister if that makes you feel any better.”

Ellie smiles a little, too, and Harry swears he gets an adrenaline high off how good that feels. Nothing exploded, nobody cried. Well, except Sam, who’s still crying loudly. 

“This is Milo,” Louis says, coming to stand closer to them. Milo’s half-awake and stares tiredly at Addison, and when Addison reaches over to touch his little hand, he half-heartedly wraps his hand around her finger. 

“He’s cute,” she says decisively, and Louis laughs. 

“Yeah, he is.”

Harry grins. “What ‘till you hear him cry.”

-

That afternoon, Harry leaves yet again to go out and buy a few things that they need now, like baby wipes and car seats and more diapers and more clothes for the kids. He buys a crib, too, because even though Louis said they can wait a few more days, Harry can’t take another fitful night of sleep from being anxious about sleeping with the baby in the bed. 

Sam comes with him, and he clings to Harry the entire time. He finally stopped crying when Harry said he was going to leave, and then he started right back up again, making grabby hands for Harry and crying harder when Harry hesitated. Ellie says he just likes to cuddle, that it’s that simple, but Sam’s cries have a little too much heart in them for Harry to take them lightly. So Sam comes along, and he’s content the entire time on Harry’s hip. He doesn’t even ask for anything, just sets his head on Harry’s shoulder and watches what he’s doing. When Harry has to put him down to put the crib in the cart, he fusses quietly, but Harry picks him back up again before he can start crying. 

When Harry gets Sam buckled into his brand new car seat, Sam peers at him with wide eyes and asks, “Where’s Mommy?”

He sighs quietly before giving Sam a hopefully convincing smile. “She’s at a motel, love. Like the one we were at last night? She’s going to sleep there tonight, and. . . and she’ll come see you tomorrow before she goes away for a little while, okay?”

Sam looks down at his lap for a second, at the pacifier in his hand. “Where’s she going?”

“Somewhere that can help her get better. For you and your brother and your sister.”

Sam must not completely grasp what any of it really means, because he asks if they can go see the kitty again before sliding the pacifier back into his mouth. Harry is going to break that habit, he will, but in a few days, when things settle down a bit and Sam isn’t so overwhelmed. 

Louis helps Harry get everything inside, and Addison holds the baby as they put everything away. She seems happy, staring down at Milo. Babies aren’t as scary as toddlers and older kids. Addison isn’t going to have any trouble bonding with Milo, but that might not be the same with the other two. 

“Okay,” Harry says with a loud sigh once everything’s in the house. “I should go to the motel now. I don’t want Gemma all alone tonight.”

Addison frowns, but she doesn’t object. Louis does. 

“Sit for a little while,” he says. “You’ve barely had a break all day. She can wait.”

“She’s probably scared,” Harry tells him, and Louis shakes her head. 

“She’s fine. And you two are probably just going to argue all night, anyway. Just. . . sit down and eat something before you go at least.”

So Harry stays, and not particularly because he wants to, but because Louis wants him to. If it’ll make Louis feel better -- Louis, who’s going to be watching after four children tonight, three of them who he barely knows -- then Harry will do it. Harry sits down on the couch and relaxes for what feels like the first time in years, and Louis sits with him. They don’t turn on the TV; Addison trying to show Sam the way Falcon likes to be pet is entertaining enough. 

Harry waits about an hour before he says he really should go, and Louis lets him. It’s nearing dinner time, so Harry will pick up something for Gemma and him on the way. When Harry puts on his shoes to leave, Sam starts crying again, Milo following shortly after. 

Addison wrinkles her nose and takes Ellie to her room. 

“Sam, love,” Harry says, sighing. He bends down to be level with him, and Sam gets up off the floor and heads straight for him, wrapping his arms around his neck. His cries are loud, so loud, and it hurts Harry’s heart. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Louis’ll be here with you, and so will your siblings.’

Harry has no clue what he’s done to get Sam attached to him so quickly. Maybe he’s just a replacement for Gemma, maybe it’s deeper than that, Harry doesn’t know. All he knows is he’s going to feel too bad to go anywhere if this keeps up. Sam hasn’t gone more than a few hours without crying all day. 

At least that means he’ll sleep well tonight. 

“Can I come with you?” he asks, voice wobbly. 

Harry stands with him in his arms and shakes his head. “No, love. I’m sorry.” But he shoots Louis a questioning glance anyway, because maybe it would be easier to just take him along. He’d be happier that way. But Louis shakes his head as he sways Milo in his arms. 

“He’s going to have to get used to it,” he says quietly. “With you working almost every day. No point in indulging him now when you can’t later.”

Harry takes a deep breath before prying Sam’s hands off his neck and pulling back from him a bit. Sam tries to burrow back into his chest, but Harry keeps a gentle hand on his chest, keeping him away so he can look at his face. 

“But the kitty is here, Sam,” he says, trying to sound as soothing as he can. “Don’t you like the kitty?”

Sam nods hurriedly, tears still streaming down his cheeks. 

“How about this,” he says, walking over to where Falcon is laying on the armchair. He sets Sam down next to him, and it’s hard and he has to fight with him a bit, but he gets Sam seated. “You stay here and watch the cat for me, okay? Only you can do it.”

“Ellie can,” Sam argues around his pacifier. 

“Falcon likes you better.”

It’s what convinces Sam to stay, and Harry hurriedly kisses Louis goodbye and leaves before Sam can change his mind. 

Harry gets to the motel about a half hour later with a box of pizza and some drinks for the two of them. He knocks on the room number that Louis gave him, and there’s not an answer. He calls out her name, and there’s no answer. He calls Louis to make sure he’s at the right place, and Louis tells him that he is and that she probably ran off. Harry can’t believe that, he can’t, so he asks the front desk if they know if she left. 

“Brown hair, real skinny?” the receptionist asks. 

Harry nods, teeth sunk into his bottom lip. 

“She left about an hour ago.”

Harry asks if they can let him into her room so he can wait for her, but she says no, so Harry sits outside her door. She’ll come back, she will. She has to. But an hour passes, and Harry’s three pieces of pizza deep and sick of all the games on his phone, and losing hope, fast. It’s been two and a half hours since he’s been here when he’s talking to Louis on the phone, his head on his knee, feeling so stupid that it hurts. 

“Where would she have gone?” Harry asks. “There’s nowhere for her to go, it’s not like -- ”

There’s a quiet scoff, and then, “Are you tattling on me, Harry?”

Harry whips his head up so fast that it makes something in his neck hurt. Gemma’s standing there, one of Louis’ coats hugged tightly to her body, looking irritated. 

“Where _were_ you?” he asks, standing up. His ass hurts from sitting on the floor so long, and his legs ache as he stands. 

She shrugs as she passes him and slides the keycard into the door. She pushes it open and he follows her inside with the food. 

“I didn’t realize I wasn’t supposed to leave.”

There’s a paper bag in her hand, and Harry sighs, his face crumpling. 

“What is that?”

She doesn’t even try to lie. “Heroin,” she says. “The dealer I used to go to in high school is still around, you know that? The south side looks worse than before.” She’s talking about it so nonchalantly, taking her shoes off and tossing her jacket on the bed. Harry stays silent, fuming silently, and she turns to him. “What, you expected me to sit here with my hands in my lap all night?”

Again, Harry doesn’t say anything. He just shakes his head at her and turns his back so he can speak to Louis. “She’s here. I’ll text you later or something. The kids have eaten, right?”

“Yes.”

“There were no problems?”

Louis laughs. “I know how to feed children, Haz. Wasn’t hard. But for future reference, Ellie despises carrots. I think she has a personal vendetta against them.”

“Okay,” Harry says, smiling. “Noted. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Harry hesitates when ending the call, because he knows as soon as he does, it’s just him and Gemma. 

They don’t really talk that much throughout the night. After she goes to the bathroom to undoubtedly shoot up, she’s quiet and lies in bed while Harry sits in the armchair watching TV. He’s not hungry, but he finds himself eating far more than should because he’s nervous and wants something to distract him, to have something to do with his hands. There’s a few times throughout the night that he stares at her a while, making sure she’s still breathing. That’d be his luck, her dying on him the night before he’s putting her in rehab. He’s been researching places online, and there’s a few nearby that are open on Sundays. He calls them, making sure to keep his voice low even though there’s no point, and he decides on a clinic that isn’t too far away, isn’t outrageously expensive and will take her tomorrow. He sets it up without really consulting her about it, and maybe that makes him cruel, but he wants to fix this as quickly as possible. If Gemma goes to rehab, she’ll come back fine. She might struggle at first, sure, but Louis and Harry and her kids will be there to help her. That’s all she will need to get back on her feet. 

After a while, Harry realizes that he’s just trying to convince himself that. But telling himself everything’s going to be okay is a lot easier than recognizing that a little bit of love isn’t going to solve a decades long drug addiction. 

Around midnight, after Gemma’s fallen asleep, he forgets why he was looking so hard for her. 

-

As Harry drives her to the clinic, it’s hauntingly silent in the car. 

Gemma’s mad at him for so many things that he can’t keep track of it all. She has been snippy with him all morning, even when he was just trying to help, even when he was going out of his way to try and make her happy. And Harry’s pissed off at her because she has three kids at home that she’s refusing to say goodbye to, and one of those kids is a heartbroken little boy that Harry promised she’d see him in the morning. She says that it’ll be too hard, for her and for them, to say goodbye. That there’s no point in stirring up emotions when they’re already distanced, no point in bringing them together only to break them apart again. Harry fought her on it for a while, and he seriously considered just dragging her inside of his apartment, but Louis told him it wasn’t worth it. 

Harry has had a massive headache all morning. He misses his boyfriend and his kid and he’s worrying incessantly about the other three. The last thing he wants to be doing is fighting his sister to do the right thing. 

When they park in front of the clinic, Harry feels suffocated by the tension. He glances at Gemma, and she doesn’t even look angry anymore. She doesn’t look anything. It’s like she’s a ghost. 

“Do you want me to visit?” Harry asks quietly. “I will, but only if you want me to.”

She shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does, Gems. I’ll visit, okay? I’ll come. Maybe every two weeks or something. I’ll work it out. Sixty days will fly by.”

That had been one of the things she was pissed about this morning, him signing her up for two months instead of one. All he said was, “Just _look_ at you, Gemma.”

“Okay,” she says. She sighs before looking at him. “And after?”

“After what?”

“After I get out. What then?”

He doesn’t answer right away, and she presses further. 

“Am I moving in with you all, am I going back to Kentucky. What?”

Harry doesn’t like that she’s pretending like he has all the answers. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t fucking know anything. This is _her_ life, he doesn’t control it. “I guess I’ll get you an apartment in my complex. So we can be around to help. Do you. . . do you have any money? Like, a bank account or anything?”

She shakes her head, and Harry would press her on it more if he didn’t feel like he would be lied to no matter what. 

Harry walks her inside and checks her in, and that’s that. He didn’t expect a hug, but maybe a thank you would have been nice. Instead, she just nods at him before turning and following a man down the hallway. It’s jarring, almost, how quickly it’s over with, so he lingers for a bit, hoping to be useful, until he realizes that he can’t help here and there’s more than plenty he can do at home. 

-

That day goes over smoothly. Sam is over the moon to see him again, they get Milo’s crib situated, Ellie seems content, although Harry can’t really tell because she doesn’t talk to them much. She kind of just does everything for herself, which is fine but Harry doesn’t particularly like her knowing how to start the wash or make scrambled eggs or change a diaper. It makes him feel bad for her. Addison remains a little confused but okay about the whole thing, and she puts up with Harry constantly checking in on her and doting on her. And at night, Sam sleeps with them, Milo in his crib and Ellie on the couch in the living room, and Milo sleeps through the night and Sam doesn’t wake when Harry takes the pacifier out of his mouth and puts it on the bedside. It’s actually somewhat peaceful, and Harry fully believes that they can handle this perfectly. 

And then the next morning happens, and Sam is back to sobbing over Harry leaving for work and Milo is echoing his cries, and Addison is sitting at the kitchen table looking disoriented and tired, and Ellie is telling Louis that he’s not feeding Milo the way he likes, and it’s all too much at once that Harry feels like his head is going to explode. 

They try to put out one fire at a time. 

He sends Addison back to bed with a kiss on the head and a promise that the boys will quiet down shortly. 

He promises Ellie that Louis knows what he’s doing and distracts her by asking her to help him make his lunch. 

And Sam, well. Sam’s cries start to fade to white noise, because there’s nothing Harry can do to help him. He can’t stay home to be with him, and he’s sure Sam will be fine once Louis has Milo back to sleep and can give him some attention to remind him that Harry’s not the only one here to take care of him. 

Milo falls back asleep five minutes before Harry has to leave, and Louis picks Sam up and rocks him back and forth, his cries slowing down gradually. His eyes follow Harry everywhere, from Harry putting on his shoes to grabbing his keys and to kissing Louis goodbye, and he lets out a soft cry when Harry kisses his forehead and promises to be back. 

All day at work, Harry’s distracted and worried and guilty. He feels so bad for putting so much onto Louis’ plate. So much _more_. They finally reached a point in their lives where they could have a break, and Harry ruined it. 

At lunch, he texts Louis to check-in on him, and he’s expecting to hear that the house remains chaotic. Instead, Louis sends him a picture of Sam in Addison’s lap as she shows him something on the computer, Ellie sat in a seat beside them. His shoulders sag with relief. 

Still, between then and on the way home, Harry convinces himself that the house is going to be a mess and Louis’ going to be tired and Addison’s going to be upset and that everything’s going to suck. He hates that he’s being so pessimistic, it’s just a lot to adjust to. A lot of unknown. Even though Harry hasn’t been making good money for that long, he forgot what this felt like. 

It is a little chaotic when he gets home, but in a good way. Sam is playing with the cat, and as soon as he sees Harry, he sets off for him, arms wide for a hug. Harry lifts him up and sets him on his hip, somehow already used to it. Addison is braiding Ellie’s hair, which surprises Harry a little bit but he’s glad for it anyway. It helps that Ellie is such a good kid; Addison and Ellie shouldn’t have any problems getting along. And Louis’ on the floor with Milo, staring up at a soccer game playing on the TV while distractedly helping Milo build a tower with blocks. 

It’s different, and there’s still a lot of things they have to figure out, but everybody seems relatively content, and that’s all Harry can hope for. 

-

Gemma’s sixty days pass quickly and slowly all at once. And as Louis and Harry learn more about the kids, Harry is begging the days to slow down, for there to be more time between the kids staying here and the kids going back to Gemma. 

Harry wouldn’t say that Gemma’s a bad mother. He wouldn’t say she’s a good one, either. 

The first red flag -- a huge, wailing, bright red flag -- shoots up on the third day. Harry’s in the bathroom giving Sam a bath while Louis, Addison and Ellie make brownies. Sam is having a surprising amount of fun in the bathtub playing with the little boats that Louis bought him, so Harry sits patiently and waits for him to finish. He’s been clean for ages, but Harry won’t rush him to get out. 

They’ve been in the bathroom for about a half hour when Louis knocks and comes in without waiting for a response. Sam waves at him, and Louis waves distractedly back before turning to Harry with an unreadable expression. 

He sighs loudly before saying, “Harry, Ellie doesn’t know how to read.”

Harry doesn’t quite know how to respond to that. “What?” he asks. 

“Well, she does, just not as well as she should. She could read maybe half the words of the back of the brownie box.”

Harry winces at that; she’s eight, she should know how to read almost perfectly by now, and most certainly know how to read the words off of a cooking box. But maybe she’s just not good at reading. Maybe it’s not that big of a deal.

“She says she’s homeschooled,” Louis says. “By Gemma, which is laughable in itself. I asked her how she’s passing her classes if nobody’s helping her learn and she said she walked to the library and asked for help there. Sometimes people would have time to help her, sometimes people wouldn’t. I have a feeling she’s fallen far, far behind her peers.”

That’s undoubtedly true. Harry wouldn’t believe for a second that Gemma could provide Ellie the education she deserves through homeschool. And it’s awful and infuriating and unfair, but Louis starts working on reading and other things with her during the day and Harry can get her a proper tutor come fall when she goes to school. Public school. It’s manageable. 

The second red flag comes a week later. It’s the weekend so Harry's home all day, and Anne’s called him three times in the last week and Harry keeps letting them go to voicemail. But now she’s calling Louis, and Louis isn’t happy about it. 

“I don’t know what you expect me to do,” Harry tells him. They’re sitting on the floor of the living room with Sam a few feet away playing with his trucks. Harry watches him before looking back to Louis. “I can’t tell her the truth.”

“Yes, you can. She won’t care. She’ll disagree with what we’re doing, but it’s not like that matters. It’s not like she can punish you; you’re an adult.”

Sam’s looking at them now, but neither of them notice. 

“Well, why can’t you tell her then?”

Louis scoffs. “She’s _your_ mom. And she still hates me.”

“Okay,” Harry says, not really agreeing but now wanting to fight. Louis gives him a knowing look. 

“Don’t just do that thing where you’re agreeing with me so I stop talking.”

Harry sighs. “We can talk about it later.”

“Harry.”

“We can talk about it later,” Harry repeats, tone sharper. He’s not mad, and neither is Louis. They’re just having a disagreement, it’s not a big deal. 

Louis rolls his eyes. “Sure we will.”

“We _will,_ ” Harry says, on the verge of snapping but not quite there yet. Maybe it’s a little hot, maybe it’s a little charged, but it’s nowhere near worth the reaction of Sam bursting into tears. Louis and Harry look at each other, both wondering if they’ve missed something, and Sam cries and cries and cries. 

“What’s wrong, buddy?” Louis asks, crawling over to him. 

Sam hiccups loudly. “Don’t yell,” he whimpers. “No yelling. No fighting.”

And that’s about the most heartbroken Harry’s every felt. He and Louis calm him down, promising that they aren’t mad and that they weren’t fighting and that everything’s okay. That Sam’s safe here. Louis keeps saying that, keeps telling him that he’s safe, and it makes Harry’s stomach roll. 

They don’t really do anything about it -- don’t really know what to do -- but a few days later, Harry and Louis are bickering half-heartedly about who has to go to the grocery store next. It’s not -- it’s not a fight. They don’t raise their voices, they aren’t angry at each other, both of them know full-well that Harry’s going to be the one to go to the store, and yet Sam gets upset again. He was in the other room, he shouldn’t have even heard them, but he’s so upset that Harry feels crazy, like maybe they were being loud or fighting or doing _something_ to warrant such a reaction. 

And again a week later, when Addison is picking a fight with Louis about her wanting to stay the night with a few of her friends at a friend's house that neither of them have ever even heard of. They’re all eating at the kitchen table, Milo in Harry’s lap, and Harry’s barely even paying attention to the two of them. He’s listening to a story that Ellie’s telling him about her favorite TV show. 

He hears it when Louis snaps, “Addison, enough, okay. I said no. Dad did, too.”

“That’s so unfair.”

“Addison.”

“But -- ”

“ _Enough_ ,” Louis says, and just as abrupt as the other two times, Sam explodes into a fit of tears. Harry looks at him, shocked, just in time to see Sam shove at Louis’ shoulder. 

“Hey, hey,” Harry says gently, handing Milo to Ellie. He stands and goes over to Sam so he can bend down next to him. He carefully takes Sam’s hands off Louis, who’s staring at Sam, looking afraid to make it worse. “We don’t hit,” Harry tells him, squeezing his hands softly. Sam’s face has already gone red from crying. 

“He’s mad,” Sam cries, and Harry shakes his head. 

“He’s not, but even if he was, we don’t hit people.”

Louis looks stunned. “I’m not mad, Sam. Everything’s fine, love.” And Sam doesn’t look like he knows what to do with himself, so he cries some more until he reaches out to Louis. Louis stands and picks him up easily, whispering apologies and affirmations into his ear, and Harry stays crouched down, beyond sick to his stomach. 

Three year olds aren’t hard to read. They don’t know what it means to hide things. Sam freaks out at the slightest bit of anger. He thinks hitting is an appropriate way to express that he wants something to stop. He craves affection from the person who he just thought was dangerous. 

Harry’s pretty sure he’d lose his mind if he heard that Gemma ever put her hands on any of the kids. 

They get Sam calmed down, and once he is, they take him to his room so they can talk about this. Like they should have done an incident or two ago. Harry didn’t realize how bad it was. 

“Am I in trouble?” Sam asks, tears coming back to his eyes, and both of them rush to assure him that he’s not. He relaxes a little, but his thumb comes to rest on his bottom lip. They took the pacifier away about a week ago, and he cried for a few days but got over it soon enough. Sometimes he sucks his thumb, but not nearly as much as he sucked on the pacifier. 

It’s not easy getting Sam to talk. He doesn’t understand their questions, and it’s probably because Harry and Louis are beating around the bush a bit. They don’t know how to go about this. So, after Sam doesn’t quite grasp what Louis means when he asks if anybody’s ever touched him in a way he didn’t like, Louis says, “Has anybody ever hit you, Sam?”

Sam’s gaze instantly drops down to the bed, and a fierce anger rips through Harry. 

“Sam,” he says camly. “Talk to us, buddy.”

“Who hit you?” Louis asks. 

When Sam looks up, he’s frowning and tears are threatening to fall and Harry can’t do this. He scoops Sam up and holds him close, tells Sam that it’s okay if it’s hard to talk about. He shoots daggers at Louis, who somehow gets the message and says that he’ll go see if Ellie knows anything. He comes back ten minutes later, and Sam’s still cuddled into Harry. Sam’s not crying, Harry keeps making sure he’s not crying, but he doesn’t look happy, either.

“Sam, bud,” Louis says, voice tight. “Why don’t you go finish dinner, okay? Addison’s waiting for you.”

Sam twists Harry’s shirt, and Harry smooths a hand over his head. 

“You’re not in any trouble, love. We just don’t want your dinner going cold.”

“And Addison said she’ll show you that game you two were talking about earlier,” Louis says, and it seemingly does the trick, because Sam slowly detaches himself from Harry and leaves the room. Louis shuts the door after him, and Harry wipes a hand over his face.

“Was it Gemma? Did she hit him?”

“Not really,” Louis says, and before Harry can ask him what the fuck that means, Louis explains. “Ellie said that sometimes Gemma would get mad at Sam for being so clingy. Sometimes she’d push him away or lock him in the bedroom, but she wouldn’t hit him. Ellie also said that Sam got potty trained so fast because Gemma completely blew up one night when he pissed the bed. It. . . it sounds like she would yell a lot, but she wouldn’t hit. Ellie promised me she never hit any of them.”

Harry doesn’t feel any better. 

“There was this guy, though,” Louis starts, and Harry’s heart plummets. “He -- I guess one night Sam got really upset that Gemma was in the room all night so he came and knocked on the door a bunch and whoever Gemma was with opened the door and smacked him upside the head. She -- God, Ellie said that Gemma kicked him out right away, but still.”

Harry closes his eyes slowly and takes a breath that’s supposed to calm him but doesn’t do anything. 

“I’m not going to give those kids back so easily, Harry,” Louis says, almost sounding apologetic. “She’s got to prove herself first, and I mean really prove herself. Holding down a job, staying sober.”

Harry nods. He came into this ready to help his sister, and that’s still a main priority, but the kids are innocent in all this. They haven’t done a thing to deserve anything less than love and safety. And if that means Harry and Louis have to hold onto the kids longer than they thought, then so be it. He’s already done that once, and it’s turned out more than okay. 

There’s other things that are a little concerning about the kids, too. Like Sam’s attachment issues that take a long time to fade, the way Ellie is used to taking care of everything herself, how neither of them like it when the bedroom door is shut. They do get Ellie a bed and put it in Addison’s room, and sometimes Harry will walk past the room in the middle of the night and hear quiet giggles and it makes his heart sing with relief. Sam takes turns sleeping with them and with Ellie, and Harry and Louis try to take advantage of the nights that it’s just the two of them. 

A week before Gemma’s due to leave, Harry and Louis are sound asleep in bed. Harry got the key to Gemma’s apartment today, and he went over there to get some stuff situated, like a bed and some food. He considered buying her a phone when he bought Addison one, but he decided against it. He doesn’t want to put her in touch with any other dealers. Everything’s taken care of. Everything that Harry can prepare for, anyway. 

Around four in the morning, Harry wakes to mumbled voices. He blinks tiredly and sits up to see Addison whispering to Louis. Belatedly, he registers there are distant cries coming from Sam in a different room. Harry swears that kid cries just as much as Milo. 

“What’s going on?” he asks, voice thick with sleep, and Louis reaches for him and pushes him gently back down to bed. 

“Just go back to sleep, love. You have to be up in two hours and you won’t be able to go back to sleep if you get up. I’ll take care of it.”

And Harry’s exhausted and barely even awake, so he falls back asleep easily. He halfway wakes up again when Louis comes back to bed, now with a freshly-washed Sam in his arms, and he snuggles up to the two of them and immediately falls back asleep. It’s not until a few hours later when he’s getting ready for that he finds out from Louis that Sam wet the bed and had a little bit of a meltdown over it. 

Harry frowns at him, remembering what Louis had said a while back. _Ellie also said that Sam got potty trained so fast because Gemma completely blew up one night when he pissed the bed._

“He was sitting in the bathtub bawling his eyes out, trying to turn the faucets on to get himself cleaned up when Addison woke me up,” Louis tells him tiredly. “He kept telling her not to wake us. He didn’t want to get in any trouble.”

Harry just sighs and tries to ignore the hurt that tears up his heart because he never quite knows how to react to finding out more inexcusable things that Gemma has put her children through. She’s clearly done a number on Sam’s perception of reality and created him a world of anxiety. Ellie seems okay, and Milo’s too young to really get hurt by anything emotional like that, but that doesn’t minimize what Sam’s been through. And it doesn’t even have to be said between Louis and Harry that they are far more protective of Sam then the other two; not because they don’t love them, they love them dearly, but Sam needs a protector. Sam needs someone to advocate for him, and he’s the most vulnerable to hurt. Sam’s at the age that his issues need to be addressed immediately before the fester into something worse, and Harry and Louis will be damned if they don’t prevent that from happening. 

A while back, Louis took Sam to the dentist while Harry was at home with the others, and thankfully, his teeth aren’t too badly affected by the prolonged use of the pacifier. The problems will most likely correct themselves on their own. They both expected for him to freak out at the dentist’s, and he didn’t. He liked it, he thought it was cool. And it gave Harry a bit of confidence in believing that Sam will be completely fine if he doesn’t go through anything else that will cause him extensive distress. He’s at the point that he can grow from this, and Harry doesn’t know if that could happen if he was under Gemma’s constant care. It’s not even an option anymore, Gemma having full-supervision of the children. Not for a long, long time. At first, Harry thought that it wasn’t fair nor their decision to make, but over time, he realized that the only thing that matters is what is fair to the children. If that means that Gemma only sees them occasionally at first and eventually turns into the kids staying with Harry and Louis a few nights a week, then that’s okay. But Harry and Louis are going to have a permanent spot in those kids’ lives no matter what, no matter how hard they have to fight for it. It’s not unfair, they aren’t being overdramatic. No, there’s no evidence to say that the kids were being abused, but they were being neglected. They weren’t in a healthy environment. Harry and Louis can change that for them, permanently, if Gemma won’t. 

Louis’ already contacted a lawyer. They don’t plan to take it that far, but if Gemma fights them, they’ll fight her right back. Nothing will get to hurt those kids anymore. 

-

When Gemma is released from the clinic, Harry can’t quite believe how much sixty days can change someone. He’s been seeing her every two or three weeks, but now it’s like for the first time, he’s actually _seeing_ her. She looks healthy now, skin fresh and hair shinier and weight added back to her frame. It’s jarring, how she resembles the person he used to know. Ages ago, when they were kids and she everything still seemed innocent. Harry just hopes that along with the physical improvements, there’s been mental improvements, too. 

And it seems like there has been. They talk on the way home about treatment plans and IOP and the kids and the apartment and what comes next. That fills Harry up with hope, her talking about the future. It sounds like she’s given serious thought to what changes she needs to make, and as he sits there talking to a seemingly hopeful, more familiar version of his sister, he feels so insanely guilty about everything he’s thought about her these last two months. About ripping away her _kids_. She thanks him for helping her, for seeing the good sides of her along with the bad, and he just gives her a weak smile because he doesn’t really know if he had until now. 

Harry offers to take her to her meetings after work, and she says no, that she can take the train. She sounds so sure about it that he doesn’t argue. That he doesn’t see that as a bit of a warning sign. 

All three of the kids are happy to see her, and that guilt he was feeling earlier burrows deeper, making a permanent home inside of his chest. She loves them, they love her. Yes, the situation wasn’t ideal before, but the situation has changed. It can be different now. 

Louis notices him doubting their vicious stand point, and he pulls him into the kitchen and talks some sense to him. One good day doesn’t mean anything. She’s going to struggle coming back to reality, everyone does. Having three young kids witnessing that struggle isn’t fair. Gambling their safety and happiness out of guilt is selfish. 

“And Gemma even agrees that she can’t handle all of them right now,” Louis whispers fiercely. “We told each other that she doesn’t get those kids back until she earns it, and she has done absolutely nothing to prove that she can support herself or them. 

As they’re talking in the kitchen, Gemma comes to them with Sam on her hip and a shy smile. “Harry said I could talk to Addison,” she says, looking at Louis. “Is she in her room?”

Louis swallows and takes a small step towards Harry, looking nervous. “What are you going to say to her?”

“I just want to talk.”

“About what?”

She shrugs. “About everything.”

“She’ll tell us whatever you say,” Harry hears himself blurt. “So, like. Just know that.”

Gemma nods, and before they let her go, Louis takes Sam from Gemma. Harry expects some sort of backlash, but Sam hooks happily onto Louis and looks around the kitchen, not even watching Gemma leave. It’s. . . different for him. 

Louis and Harry sit in the living room so they can keep an eye on Milo, and they talk to try and avoid straining to hear what Addison and Gemma are saying. It’s July, school starts up again soon; Louis thinks they should hire a sitter if the kids aren’t back with Gemma by then. It makes Harry anxious, but he agrees. He can’t keep Louis away from his job forever. It’ll be Addison’s last year before high school, which they immediately move on from because it makes them both wildly uncomfortable to think about. And, in whispers that rely on mouth-reading more than anything, they talk about the odds of Gemma staying sober. It feels dirty, but avoiding the topic is unrealistic. Neither of them really know what to think, and having to wait and find out is as unnerving as it sounds. 

When Gemma comes out of Addison’s room, she’s crying and fidgety and looks like she’s inwardly panicking. When Louis cautiously asks how it went, Gemma laughs disingenuously and says, “She’s a lot like you, Louis. She’s -- yeah. She’s a lot like you.”

It’s uncomfortable. Addison is a lot like both of them -- obviously, they’re her parents. But for Gemma to say that she’s like Louis, they know that means blunt, harsh, unrelenting. A little cold at times. She’s not a huge fan of Louis, so neither of them quite know how to take that. 

Gemma doesn’t stay much longer after that. 

-

The time between the kids being solely theirs to back into Gemma’s custody is uncertain and unsettling. Ellie doesn’t seem to be in a rush to want to go back. Sam goes through phases that he doesn’t have much interest in Gemma to screaming and crying about not being able to see her. It’s difficult to watch him try and digest this all, even more so because that can’t give him any answers. In September, Sam really starts to miss his mom, infrequent visits not being enough, so Harry and Louis decide that it might be best for him to be with her. She has a job at a grocery store and she’s been working there for about two weeks, and everything seems to be going great. She’s sober. She says she’s going to her meetings. It’s earlier than they initially intended to give the kids back, but Sam shouldn’t have to spend his days distressed because Harry and Louis are worried Gemma can’t keep it together. 

So Harry brings it up. After a long, long talk with Addison and Louis, they decide as a family that it would be better for Sam to be with his mom. And he’s heartbroken over it, devastated, he fucking loves that kid. Even if he’ll be in an apartment on the other side of the complex as theirs, it’s still not enough. 

And then Gemma says she doesn’t want Sam back just yet. Harry glares at her, wondering if she had heard any of what he said the last five minutes where he described the pain her child was going through in intimate detail. 

“He seems to be okay with you guys,” she mumbles, looking at her hands. Harry gets a bad feeling in his stomach. 

“He’s making himself sick with how upset he is over you.”

Gemma shrugs jerkily. “He’ll be okay. He’s strong.”

“He’s _three_ , he’s not fucking strong,” Harry snaps hotly. 

“He’s four now,” Gemma says, shaking her head. “He turned four in August.”

Harry stares at her in disbelief before leaving her apartment and heading back to his own without so much as a goodbye. It’s not like he was in a hurry to give Sam back, he wasn’t, but that was. . . Gemma’s detached from them. Harry doesn’t know how deep it goes. 

It’s November when they start pushing the idea of taking the kids back more and more on Gemma. They’re reaching a point where it’s not right, Harry and Louis keeping them. Ellie is having a blast at school, keeping up with her peers and everything, and she’s disinterested in seeing Gemma altogether. Sam just keeps getting upset whenever he sees her now. And Milo is growing and getting a grasp on the world, on _Harry and Louis’_ world. If Gemma wants to stop the wedge growing between her kids and herself she needs to act now. 

It starts to feel like they’re bullying her into the idea. At first, it starts off with light suggestions and offers. When she evades all of those, it turns into pressure and guilt-tripping. That doesn’t seem to phase her, so Louis starts getting really irritated and threatens to take them away altogether, and she doesn’t flinch. 

She doesn’t even react. 

Instead, as she’s looking down at Milo, at her freshly-two-year-old little boy that she has missed almost half of his life, she smiles softly and says, “I just know you could give them so many things that I couldn’t.”

Harry and Louis’ jaws nearly hit the floor. 

“We are _not_ keeping them,” Louis hisses, staring at her like she’s insane. “I mean, yeah, we will, of course we will, but only in the event that there’s nobody else to take care of them. You’re their _mother_ , Gemma, what the _fuck_.”

She looks past them at something before standing and saying, “Oh, I didn’t realize what time it is, I have to go.”

“Go _where?_ ” Louis all but shouts, and even though Sam’s in their room napping to avoid seeing Gemma, it still makes Harry nervous. Sam still doesn’t like conflict. 

Gemma doesn’t look at them as she wipes over the creases in her pants and says, “A date. I have to go.”

And when Louis and Harry start to protest -- “A _date,_ when your children are here, away from their mother, this is the first time you’ve seen them in _two weeks_ ” -- she just leaves, shutting the front door quietly as if they aren’t speaking at all. They stare at the shut door in silence, wondering what the hell is going on. Before either of them can really get a grasp on what just happened, Ellie comes into the living room as if she was waiting for Gemma to leave. Harry watches her walk to Louis and lean against his legs, wrapping her arms around his waist. 

“Can we go to the park?” she asks, and Louis sets a hand on her hand and quietly tells her yes.

At the park, as Harry watches everyone do their own thing -- Louis and Addison are slowly swinging on the swings, talking to each other; Sam has chosen to spend his time going down the slide over and over and over again; Ellie is playing on the monkey bars, and she keeps looking at Harry to see if he’s watching, and he always is -- he really starts to consider this just being how it is now. Consider what it would look like if these kids became his own, for good. It’s already been six months, and every day of those long months, Harry felt prepared to take on these kids if necessary, but that was -- he didn’t actually think it’d come to that. To this. To what is happening right now, Gemma denying her kids. And not even because she’s not sober, because she is as far as Harry can tell. She just doesn’t want them. And that’s mad, because they’re _good kids._ Milo is a little quiet thing, and half the time Harry has to double-check he’s still in the same room and hasn’t wandered off. He cries and he babbles nonsensically and he doesn’t always like eating his food, but that’s what babies _do_. Sam can be a handful sometimes, but not in a bad way. He just wants a little extra attention, and it’s getting better as time goes on. He doesn’t constantly need to be with them anymore, and he is better at expressing what he’s feeling. And Ellie is a champ; she went into public school fearlessly and is doing _fine_. She could be doing a bit better, but considering she didn’t have a proper education for the entirety of her life, Harry doesn’t care that he spends hours with her at the table every night. He does it gladly, because she’s willing to learn. Addison gets on with all of them, and she and Ellie are starting to blend together as one it feels like, but it’s. . . 

These kids are great. They’re amazing and he loves them and he’s proud of them. But they aren’t _his._

And he tries to tell himself that they can be. That Addison wasn’t his at one point, either, and now he couldn’t imagine it any other way. But Harry and Louis had plans, for dogs and houses and vacations. They finally, _finally,_ got to a place where they could relax, where they didn’t have to worry about a million different things and could focus on themselves. He has this whole life for them pictured in his head in great detail and he just doesn’t know if three little kids fit in that. 

It makes him feel sick to his stomach, guilt and anger eating him up. And if taking the kids for good is what has to happen, he’ll do it gladly. But right now, it’s not the only option. Right now, they can still get through to Gemma. 

Harry finally does. It’s the middle of December, and he’s not ready to give up on her yet, so he walks down to her apartment and knocks on her door. She doesn’t answer, but then again, she hasn’t answered in a while. So he knocks and knocks and knocks until she finally does. 

They argue for a bit. Gemma keeps using the fact that Harry and Louis are better parents as an excuse to abandon her children. Harry keeps telling her she’s going to regret not being in their lives. Over and over, they spit back some variation of their argument that they’ve repeated a hundred times already, until Harry finally gets through to her.

“You’re abandoning them just like Mom abandoned us,” Harry snaps, pointing angrily at her. Talking about his mom makes a flare of anxiety shoot up his chest; he’s essentially been hiding three children from her like they're fugitives. Addison still visits her sometimes, and she simply does not speak of Gemma or her children. Harry’s not ready to get chewed out by her. “You gave me shit for accepting her help, for bettering my child’s life, but you are acting _just like her._ What does that make you?”

The kids are back at Gemma’s within the next week, and as soon as they’re gone, Harry regrets it. He regrets it _immensely._ He loses sleep over it, can’t eat sometimes with how stressed he is, and his chest goes tight with worry randomly throughout the day. Sam’s cries and Ellie’s betrayed look are on repeat in his head, and he regrets everything so much and he just wants those kids back. He visits them almost every night, and it’s still not enough. For him or them. 

He can see it clearly now, the three of them fitting in that picture he was talking about. Sam playing with the dog and Ellie doing her homework in her room and Milo’s nursery. 

To say that they’re hoping Gemma screws up or backs out would be wrong, so they don’t say it out loud. But three months pass and the kids are fine, from what they tell him, and they stop visiting every night, only coming a few nights a week instead. It feels cruel, but Sam gets too worked up whenever they come and go like that. 

Their own apartment is strange. Louis is just as sad and guilty as Harry is, and Addison is quiet. 

-

It’s early May when Harry gets a call from Ellie’s school about her absence. It’s confusing, and at first he thinks it’s an error; they replaced their names as the primary contact number for Ellie with Gemma’s. They stayed on as a secondary contact, of course. So he thinks that Ellie missed a day of school for something completely reasonable and that they’re calling him by accident. However, when he answers the phone, the automatic voice that’s typical for things like this isn’t there, but a real life person. 

After the person introduces herself as the school’s secretary who’s inquiring about several consecutive, unexcused absences, Harry can feel in his gut that something is wrong. He’s at work, but he’s already collecting his things to get ready to go. His boss will understand. 

“Is this Harry Styles or Louis Tomlison?”

“Yes. I’m Harry. Is everything okay?”

She sighs. “It seems as though Elliana Styles has been absent from school this entire week. Usually, if the student is not to return to school in a timely manner, a note or a call is expected. We tried to contact Gemma Styles, Eliana’s primary contact on the matter, but she hasn’t been picking up. Do you know why Eliana is out of school?”

Harry thinks quickly, the fear of CPS alive and fierce in his bones. 

“She’s with my husband at home,” Harry says, hoping _husband_ gives them more credibility. “I’m her uncle, and she’s been sick -- just a minor flu -- and we’ve been taking care of her while her mom is at work.” He lets out a polite laugh. “I’m sorry, I thought Gemma would have told the school that it’s just a little bug. It must’ve slipped her mind.”

“Oh, it’s okay. It happens to the best of us.”

Harry silences a sigh of relief. 

“Can someone pick up Eliana’s assignments if she’s not back by Monday, though? Her teacher doesn’t want her to fall behind.”

“Of course,” Harry agrees. “She’ll probably be back by then, but if not, I’ll stop by to pick them up.”

He chats with her politely and charmingly before the call is over, and Harry is quick to leave after giving his boss an explanation and a handful of apologies. Thankfully, since Harry is a hard worker and hasn’t done this before, it doesn’t seem to be a problem. Harry forces himself to drive safely, although he still gets to the apartment complex quicker than normal. He parks in front of Gemma’s apartment and knocks on the door, praying that everything’s fine. 

He’s not stupid, though. Either Gemma isn’t sober, or she’s left with the kids. Harry can’t think of an alternative situation. 

Ellie answers the door with Milo on her hip, much like she had the first time he met her. Except Milo now has a towel taped around his body instead of a diaper, and Ellie looks exhausted. 

“I’ve told you so many times not to answer the door on your own, kiddo,” Harry mumbles, crouching down to kiss her head. He shuts the door behind him and takes Milo from her before looking around the house. Everything seems to be in order, not too much clutter everywhere or signs of anything worrying. He’s just glad the kids are still here. No matter what’s going on, Harry doesn’t care so long as the kids are safe. 

“Where’s Sam?”

“In the shower.”

Harry winces. “Alone?”

“He’s fine,” Ellie tells him tiredly. 

“Where’s your mom?”

Ellie stares at him for an uncomfortable amount of time before she says, “I don’t know. She’s usually back by now.”

“When did she leave?”

Maybe she went out to the store and is taking longer than normal. Maybe she’s at work and working past her shift. Maybe Harry needs to stop lying to himself, because it’s never gotten him anywhere. 

“Sunday,” Ellie says quietly, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Just after you and Louis left.”

Anger and fear and confusion all explode in his veins all at once, and he tries to process that, but it’s impossible. He holds Milo closer. “You should have come and gotten us, sweetheart,” Harry whispers, tears pricking his eyes. “You shouldn’t be going out on your own, but if it’s an emergency. . . Oh, Els, I’m sorry, shit.” 

Ellie steps forward so she can wrap her arms around Harry’s legs, and Harry puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes. “We ran out of diapers last night. I didn’t know where any of the stores were.”

“It’s okay,” Harry whispers. God, they should’ve visited more often. It’s _Friday._ Ellie’s been handling two kids by herself for almost a week. “Is everything else okay? Nobody’s hurt, or anything?”

Ellie sets her head on his thigh. “Mom was sick again. Before she left.”

“Don’t worry about her,” Harry says, close to snapping. “You don’t -- you’re going to stay with me and Louis and Addison, okay? For good this time.”

“Really?” she asks, pulling away to look at him skeptically. 

He nods, throat hot. “Yes.” He hands her back Milo before stepping around her and saying he’s going to go check on Sam. He knocks on the door and asks if he can come in, and Sam’s opening the door within seconds, dripping wet and with a pacifier in his mouth. 

It takes everything inside of Harry to avoid sighing at that, and he willingly lets Sam hug him even though he’s drenched. 

He takes them home after grabbing what’s necessary from Gemma’s, and they disperse like they’ve been waiting for this for so long. Sam goes straight for the cat and Ellie goes straight to Addison’s room to grab a stuffed animal she had forgotten here, and as they get settled again, where they fucking belong, he sets Milo on a blanket on the floor and texts Louis. 

_Els, Sam and Milo are with me, long story, they’re safe, pls pick up diapers on your way home xx_

Louis replies with _????_ a half hour later, and before Harry can try to figure out what to tell him exactly, Louis’ calling him and asking him what’s going on. He’s on his break, so Harry walks him through everything that happened and everything that’s going to happen, and Louis’ on the same page as him: first, they’ll talk to social services. Then they’ll get everyone situated here again, including buying Sam his own bed that they’ll put in Harry and Louis’ room even though it’ll be cramped. Next he’ll talk to Anne about everything, because it’s probably time. And then -- _maybe,_ if Harry decides to give her the fucking time of day -- he’ll find his sister. Maybe. 

Louis has to get back to work, so Harry wishes him a good rest of his day and tells him he loves him before starting to cook a proper meal for the kids. Lord knows they haven’t been eating right this past week. He talks to Ellie as he cooks, and she says that everything’s been fine, that she took care of everything, which Harry kind of believes but also doesn’t want to. 

“How are you dealing with everything?” he asks her, and she shrugs from where she’s looking at him with her chin perched on the top of the kitchen chair." 

“Fine “

“Are you sure?”

She nods. “It was like before. I knew what to do.”

His heart clenches painfully. “You’re a good kid, Ellie. Your brothers are lucky to have you.”

When Louis and Addison get home, Louis makes a beeline for Ellie and Sam, who are sitting on the couch eating a bowl of popcorn. He checks them like he’s searching for cuts and bruises even though Harry told him they were fine, and then he gathers them up in his arms and kisses them over and over until Ellie pulls away, giggling. Addison sort of lingers in the background, watching, and for a minute Harry thinks she’s irritated, that she feels shoved aside, and then she sits next to Ellie and asks her how she’s been.

“The baby’s wearing a towel,” Louis says critically, walking over to Harry. He wraps his arms around Harry’s waist and kisses his jaw, and Harry’s hands find their way to Louis’ hips. 

“Ellie’s idea. Quite inventive. Do you want the honor of changing him back into a real diaper?”

Louis pulls away, rolling his eyes fondly. There’s still a nervous energy that leaks through the surface; both of them know what they have to do, but they're still scared of everything that’s to come. Of everything’s that’s about to change. Again. 

-

Early Saturday morning, after talking all night with their lawyer, Harry and Louis take the kids to the nearest social services office to get them legally under their protection. During the week before the kids went back to Gemma’s, Harry and Louis took all the steps necessary to become foster parents. Their lawyer knew somebody who knew somebody that rushed the application, and they’ve officially had their foster care license for months now. 

You could say they knew something like this was likely. 

It’s not that easy, just showing up and saying, _oh, hey, we’re fostering these kids now, thanks._ But Harry and Louis have a lot of prepared arguments and threats and sob stories. There’s talk about this taking time, about the kids needing to stay at a group home until everything’s sorted, and they shut that down so fast that the lady at the desk gets annoyed with them. She keeps saying that there’s a process to this, that they can’t just cut corners, and Harry and Louis keep saying fuck the process in so many words, like it’s that simple. They know it isn’t. They know they’re gambling a lot here. But they also know that Chicago’s group homes are overrun and the social workers are overworked and that sometimes, people are sick of their job and let things slip through the cracks. 

Thankfully, after a long day sitting in the office and lots of phone calls with their lawyer, Harry and Louis go home with official paperwork saying they are fostering Eliana Katherine Styles, Samuel Edward Styles, and Milo James Styles. 

“You know what that was?” Harry asks as they start dinner in the kitchen. Ellie and Sam are asleep cuddled on the couch and Addison’s with Milo. “Privilege,” Harry answers. “That never would have happened if we were still in a tough spot.”

Louis snorts from where he’s digging through the fridge. “That ‘tough spot’ lasted far too long to be referred to as a spot, but yes, I agree with you.” He pulls out the bell peppers and sets them on the counter before looking at Harry again. “I’ll probably take your last name whenever we decide to get married. Just. . . just so that’s out there. I want to have the same name as the kids.”

And Harry likes this, them talking about marriage and the kids like they’re officially theirs already. But there’s no point in pretending like Harry and Louis won’t do everything in their power to adopt those kids, even if that means hurting his sister in the process. They’re not going to make the same mistake twice. 

“Okay,” Harry says, smiling gently. “Does that mean I have to be the one to propose, because -- ”

“Not a chance,” Louis interrupts quickly, giving Harry a stern look. He juts a finger at him. “Don’t even think about it, Styles. I’ll reject your ass so quickly.”

“That’s kind of rude, Louis,” Harry says, smile widening. Louis sticks his tongue out at him and returns back to the peppers, ducking his head to try and hide his smile. 

-

Two weeks later, they have a twin-sized bed for Sam in the girls’ room because he wanted to be with them and they didn’t really mind, Harry’s avoid three calls from his mom, Ellie’s completely caught up on her homework, and there hasn’t been any sign of Gemma. Every few days, Harry will head to her apartment and knock on the door, and when there isn’t a response, he unlocks the door and walks around, trying to see if anything’s changed. He wrote a note and set it on the kitchen table a while ago -- _If you come back, call me. We can figure this out. And if you really don’t want anything to do with the kids, at least sign over your parental rights so we can adopt them easier. Love, your little brother x._

Harry would be beyond shocked if she ever comes back. After everything that happened, after everything that Harry gave her. . . she’s not going to come back. She wouldn’t screw that up with the intention of coming back. He’s not even talking about her relapsing; sobriety is a tricky thing, he’s aware of that. He wouldn’t have held it against her if she slipped up, if she had been honest with him about it. But she wasn’t, was she. 

After a long talk with Addison about how she’s handling everything, Harry decides now is the time to call his mom. Part of him thinks that he doesn’t have to tell her, that it doesn’t really concern her at all, but there’s another nagging part of him that keeps remembering everything she did for them and how hiding kids from her is a little pathetic and not realistic. So he’ll tell her, and he’ll do it now so he can be in a good mood when Louis gets home, but he’s not going to be weak about it. He’s going to tell her how it is and stand his ground. 

Anne answers with a loud huff. “You have been ignoring me for _weeks_.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. But we need to talk about something.”

He pauses, waiting for a response, and it comes after a few weighted seconds. “Okay, then, say whatever it is. Don’t be so dramatic, Harry.”

Harry rolls his eyes and sets his head on the pillow. He’s in bed with Milo, who’s sleeping on Louis’ pillow in his cute little lamb onesie. 

“I’ll give you the cliff notes version, I guess,” Harry stars. “Um. I found Gemma a while ago. She was in Kentucky, and I got her and brought her here. She, ummm. She has three kids. Nine, four and two. And me and Louis were watching them while she was in rehab, and,” he sighs, “long story short, Gemma’s ran off and me and Louis are seriously looking into adopting them. So, um. Yeah. That’s why I’ve been so distant.”

Anne’s quiet for about a minute before she says, “I wouldn’t expect anything else from her. Now don’t you understand why I kicked her out?”

He sighs. “Mom, that’s not -- ”

“You know, she came to me. A while back, a long time ago. Asking for money for an abortion. An _abortion_ , do you believe that? Like I -- ”

“Mom, seriously -- ”

“I raised you both up religious, and look how things have turned out. It’s. . . it’s shameful.”

Harry rolls his eyes again and sets his hand on Milo’s back to calm himself. His eyelids flutter, but he doesn’t wake. “You used religion to try and scare us. That’s not very effective. And I’m not here to debate you on any of this, anyway. I was just updating you.” He bites on his bottom lip before being unable to stop himself from saying, “And yeah, me and Louis loving each other and taking in four kids in need of a home is a real shame, you’re right.”

“Harry. You know I don’t support homosexuals adopting. I don’t know why you’d expect anything different.”

It almost makes him laugh. “Well, good thing Chicago does. Anyway. You can meet them if you want, if you don’t, it’s whatever. I don’t really care either way.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You do that,” he says tiredly. Milo abruptly stretches and his eyes flutter open, and Harry smiles softly at him. He remembers when Addison was like this, all soft and small and innocent. “I have to go. Milo’s awake.”

“What kind of name is Milo?”

Harry groans and quickly tells her goodbye. After he disconnects the call, he sits up and scoops Milo up in his arms, and Milo babbles something that sounds something like him asking for Louis but not quite there. He’s in the awkward stage of knowing words and wanting to talk and still not quite getting them to make sense together just yet. 

“Kitty,” he says, and then, “Boat.” 

Harry hums and kisses his head, nodding along to whatever Milo is saying. 

-

He calls Matilda and asks her to track Gemma down for him again at the end of June. She sadly accepts.

“I don’t know why you’re looking for her,” Addison says to him, her arms crossed over her chest. “She left them. She doesn’t deserve to just get them back.”

“She’s not getting them back. Not if I have a say in it, and I do. I just want to know if she’s okay.”

Addison looks slightly more relaxed by that. “But why?”

“She’s my sister,” Harry says, shrugging. “You don’t give up on family. Well, unless they’re really shit, but Gemma isn’t, she’s just. . . ”

Addison nods once. “I get it.”

This time around, it only takes two months to find Gemma. Apparently, it’s easier to track down a dead person than a live one. Apparently, Gemma is dead. And when Matilda calls him to tell him that she is ninety-nine percent sure that, based on the description a mortician in Virginia gave, Gemma is dead, the first coherent thing Harry thinks is, well, that’ll make adopting them easier. It’s horrible, probably, and he feels guilty as hell for it. Louis admits quietly to him that he thought the same thing, too. 

After bribing their babysitter with far too much money to watch the kids and the house for the weekend, Harry and Louis drive over to Virginia to identify Gemma’s body. The only kid they’ve told the truth to is Addison, who didn’t really say anything but hugged Harry and apologized that his sister is dead. 

The road trip is kind of fun. Which, again: awful. Awful, awful attitudes to have when he’s driving to go identify the dead body of his sister. But it’s the longest time they’ve gotten to spend with each other in a long, long time. They have sex for the first time in a criminally long time the night they stop at a hotel before finishing their drive to Virginia. They’re both sad, of course they are, it’s just. Harry didn’t have very high hopes for her after she ran off. He knew this was a possibility. 

They don’t really have time to mess around in Virginia, so after stopping at the hotel to shower and change clothes, Louis drives them to the morgue. He’s not coming with Harry to identify her body, mostly because they don’t know how long she’s been dead and he’s got in his head she’s going to look creepy. Harry’s okay with it; he can do this alone. 

The mortician talks him through what to expect, yet when she pulls back the sheet to reveal his sister, just lying there on the cold table, it’s overwhelming. Even in death, her skin is so pale. Which -- of course it is. He recognizes what a stupid thing that is to think after he’s thought it. 

“Is it her?” the mortician asks gently, and Harry nods. He lets out a nervous, entirely inappropriate laugh and nods for far too long. 

“What did she die from?”

“Bad heroin,” she tells him. He’s still nodding. “The man she was with died with her. We still haven’t found who the dealer was.”

“Who was the guy? I mean, I know you can’t tell me his name, but. . .”

“Her boyfriend, it looks like. I don’t remember his name, to be honest, but he did have two beautiful little girls.”

Hysterically, Harry thinks that they’re going to get stuck taking them in, too. He must look a certain way, because she sets a hand on his shoulder and says, “They’re with their mother. Safe.”

Before Harry leaves, he writes _Styles, Gemma A._ on a tag that is put on the table beside her. He feels numb, kind of. 

It didn’t have to end like this.

-

Summer is spent tripping over their feet, getting back up, and then tripping over something else. That’s how it feels, anyway. 

The first hurdle was telling the kids the truth about their mom, and it hurts Harry to remember how confused Sam was and how detached Ellie seemed. Then came introducing the kids to Anne, who somehow had something negative to say about everything they did, even though they’re good-mannered, intelligent kids. Louis threatened her with never seeing them again if she kept it up, so she eventually stopped. Sam doesn’t like being babysat somewhere else, so they can’t leave him at Anne’s unless they want him to cry all day on her. Next, Louis came home with a stray cat and Ellie broke her wrist at the park the same day. Louis handled the cat while Harry handled the kid. It’s almost a good thing those things happened on the same day, because Sam somehow seemed more upset about Ellie breaking her wrist than Ellie did, and the new cat was a good distraction. 

After a lot of time and energy, they wind up at court at the end of August to officially adopt the kids. They avoided a major shot to their case by _both_ the fathers of the kids being dead. Addison and Ellie’s father is the one who shot up on bad heroin with Gemma in Virginia, they learn, and Sam and Milo’s father committed suicide during a bad acid trip. If it turned out that those men were out there, things could have gotten messy. 

Addison, Louis and Harry are all wearing nice, casual clothes. Sam’s wearing a tux they bought him with a purple tie that he demanded to have so it would match Ellie’s cast. Ellie is wearing a pastel purple dress to match her cast, too. And Milo is wearing pajamas because he was cranky this morning and they didn’t want to fight him. 

“Young lady,” the judge says in the beginning of their hearing. “What happened to your wrist there?”

Ellie grins and holds up her cast like it’s a trophy. “I’m practicing the monkey bars, sir.”

He laughs, and Louis and Harry grin down at her. 

Ellie smiles up at Louis and Harry when the judge officially declares them adopted, while Sam squirms in Addison’s arms, far past the point of being patient. Addison looks happy, though. Genuinely, completely happy. Not that they didn’t expect her to be, it’s just. . . nice. A nice reassurance.

“Mr. Tomlinson,” the judge says, grinning as well. Their lawyer is smiling, too. Everyone’s smiling. This will probably be the happiest moment of his life, the six of them officially becoming family. 

Louis glances up, and the judge says, “You’re the only odd one out, now. Can I tempt you in going next door and getting your marriage license?”

“Nah,” Louis says, tears in his eyes. “It’s got to be more special than that, sir.”

He crushes Harry’s hand, then, and Harry squeezes back just as tightly. 

-

A normal day goes like this. 

Harry wakes up first to get ready for work. He does so quietly, but sometimes Ellie will come out of the room to sit at the kitchen table to be around him. They don’t even really talk, most mornings, but she likes spending time with him. Sometimes it feels like he doesn’t get to spend as much quality time with her as he does the other kids, so he appreciates her being there. She feeds Falcon and Lilly so they’ll quiet down. 

Fifteen minutes before he has to leave, Louis gets up and talks to him groggily. He takes a long time to fully wake up in the morning, so Harry is sure to have coffee ready. Five minutes before he leaves, Addison gets up for school and he gets to say goodbye to her. Sometimes the youngest two will wake up sometime during the morning, but usually they sleep until the babysitter comes. 

At work, Harry spends his time keeping busy and doing things he doesn’t necessarily have to. He will never forget the opportunities this job has given him, so he tries to put his all into it, tries to go above and beyond. It’s the least he can do.

Harry gets home two hours after Louis does, and everyone’s always home and happy and there’s nothing else that could make Harry relax quicker than that. They really are blessed with having children who understand that they have things better than a lot of people. He’d much rather they were protected from the hardships they’ve had to face, but at the same time, it has made them more grateful for the small things. And Addison is rarely even in a sour mood, and she kind of sets the tone for everyone else; if she’s unhappy, it rubs off on Ellie, which then rubs off on the other two, and then Louis. Out of all of them, Sam’s the most likely to be cranky, but he’s easy to cheer up. 

Harry and Louis aren’t overwhelmed with going from one kid to four kids so quickly, which is kind of shocking. It’s just. . . it’s what they know how to do, take care of things. Adapt easily. Sometimes, usually when the youngest two are crying in harmony, he sits there wondering how this came to be his life. Not in a negative way, not at all, it's just a huge change. 

They eat dinner as a family every night, although usually they’re sitting in the living room watching TV together. The older ones and Louis sit on the couch while Harry sits on the ground with Sam, utilizing the coffee table because he’s a messy eater. Milo is usually tucked up with one of them, content. 

Bedtime is always, always a bit of a hassle. There is always one of them who isn’t feeling up for it, and since the oldest three sleep in the same room, if one won’t go to bed, none of them will. They get Sam down first, obviously, and Addison is at the age where she can go to bed whenever she deems necessary. Ellie does have a bedtime, one that she isn’t very happy about but listens to anyway. If Sam goes down easily, then it’s likely Milo won’t, and that his fussing will wake Sam. It’s a process, but one that usually works itself out. 

At night is when Harry and Louis make time for each other. It’s always easy to become disconnected, even more so with three extra distractions, so they make it a point to end their days together. Even if it’s just cuddling in bed or laying tangled up on the couch half-asleep or watching TV together, it counts. They never not want to be a good part of the day for each other. 

It doesn’t take lengthy introspecting to realize that there’s not many other people in the world who have gone through everything they have and made it out on the other side just as strong. Both of them have the same drive, identical priorities, an equal amount of love for each other. The same level of strength and resilience. It’s something that greatly soothes Harry, knowing that he will have Louis until the end. There’s absolutely nothing in this world that could tear them apart.

-

-

Their time spent at the apartment is much more short-lived than they had originally anticipated, Despite the love and appreciation they have for that apartment, it’s too cramped when there are six people and two cats, so they decide to move. The only one who has a fuss about it, predictably, is Sam, but they’re sure he’ll get over it once he realizes that not that much is actually changing. 

It takes them about two months of house-hunting to decide on a house, and throughout those weeks, it’s tense. They just so feel dirty, like they’ve become everything they once hated, as they walk around houses and wrinkle their noses at the idea of it only having three bedrooms instead of four. Before, they took whatever they could get and held onto it for as long as possible. Now, they’re willingly walking around from a perfectly good apartment and turning their noses up at perfectly good houses. Both of them kind of just want to give in and take whatever will work, but they force themselves to ignore any biases they might have so they can try and find their forever home. They don’t want to settle, especially when he has three new kids to think about. Harry feels like he owes that much to Gemma, taking care of her kids in all the ways she couldn’t. 

As the months pass and the kids start to really get a grasp on what it means to never see their mother again, their emotions shift. Sam goes quiet whenever someone brings it up, and Ellie always feels so guilty. For what, Harry and Louis can’t figure out. She wasn’t meant to take care of her mother, it was supposed to be the other way around. They try talking about it with them, but sometimes it’s easier for everyone if they just don’t. Sam’s young enough to forget her, and as horrible as it sounds and as guilty it makes them feel for thinking that, maybe it’s for the best that he does. They don’t really know. They’re still trying to figure that out. 

The house they decide on is far more expensive than they could have even dreamed of before, but it also has a warm, cozy feel to it. It doesn’t look luxurious or ostentatious; it’s quiet and subtle about its beauties. Anne insists on seeing the house before they bid on it, which is slightly irritating but okay, and when they get her approval on it along with the kids’, they bid on the house. A few weeks later, they close on it, and it’s theirs. 

“It’ll feel more like home when we get all our stuff in,” Louis tells him on the first morning the house is actually theirs. They picked up the keys from the realtor an hour ago and now they’re going to drop off a few bags to start off while the kids are with Anne. The move-in process is going to be difficult, considering Harry and Louis are already so busy between work and the kids, but they’ll figure it out. If Harry has to move everything in by himself this weekend while Louis’ at work, then so be it. He wants to be settled in as quickly as possible. 

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, nodding. “I’m just glad the kids seemed to like it.”

“Me too.”

Every time they stop by the house, it’s less startling to see that it’s theirs. This time is no different. As Harry steps out of the car and looks at the property, he can imagine Addison and Ellie sitting on the front porch together while Harry does yard work and Louis plays with Sam and Milo on the front lawn. He can imagine rushing to his car when it’s snowing out and opening the front windows’ curtains to let the sun in for the cats when it’s summer. This can be home for them. It will be.

“You have the key, right?” Louis asks, walking behind him as they come to the door. Harry nods and pulls it out of his pocket before opening the screen door. He’s ready for some cinematic moment, opening the door and stepping into their house for the first time that it’s actually theirs, but the key won’t go in. It doesn’t even look like it could fit at all. 

“Louis,” he whines, trying it again. It doesn’t work. “I’m going to kill our realtor if we have to go back to her office. Will you try it?”

Louis doesn’t respond, so Harry turns around and he’s so caught-off guard to see Louis kneeling in front of him, a sheepish look on his face and an opened ring box in his hand. Harry’s eyes widen and his chest seizes, and underneath the panic and euphoria, there’s annoyance at himself for letting himself get played so easily. Usually he’s better at predicting Louis’ mischievous little plans. 

“Jesus Christ, Louis,” Harry whispers, shocked. 

Louis grins. “Harry,” he says, clearly ready to recite some sort of speech, but Harry grabs his hands and tugs him up off his feet. 

“Don’t try to woo me,” he says, setting his shaking hand on Louis’ cheek. “You know it’s a yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course.”

Harry kisses him then, and it’s meant to be tender and sweet but it turns out a lot more charged and passionate than he intends. It’s just -- he loves him. So much. And he’s glad they finally have gotten here, to the rings and the house and the kids and the good. When they pull away, there’s tears in Louis’ eyes and down Harry’s cheeks. 

“Couldn’t do the house thing without doing this thing first,” Louis whispers, squeezing Harry’s wrist. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Harry whispers back. A smile grows across his face. “Louis William Styles.”

Louis takes the ring from the box, and it’s a pretty gold band with a diamond in the middle. Louis’ matches, aside from the diamond. He slides it over Harry’s finger, and Harry flexes his fingers, somehow already used to the feeling. 

They kiss again, softer this time. 

“Now where’s the actual key?” Harry asks softly, his lips brushing across Louis’. Louis grins again and pulls back to fish out the real key from his front pocket. He hands it to Harry, and Harry takes it. 

“That other key is to the freezer at work,” he says, and Harry rolls his eyes fondly before kissing his forehead and turning to open the door for real this time. They key slides in easily, and with Louis’ hands on his waist, Harry pushes open the door. 

It feels like the beginning. 

-

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for the love on my last fic, i hope you liked this one too x
> 
> i made a twitter if you want to talk to me?? it is @/bravestylesao3
> 
> comment if you feel like it :D


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